


You're Not Alone

by flightinflame



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beach Divorce Fix-It, Canon Backstory, Canon Disabled Character, Childhood Trauma, Erik has Issues, First Meetings, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Unethical Experimentation, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame
Summary: Charles is thirteen when he first writes to his soulmate. Erik is fifteen when words first appear on his skin, words that he cannot understand. The two of them steal what moments they can to talk to each other, the fates drawing them first together - and then, with a single deflected bullet, sending them apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to triffidsandcuckoos for betaing, and lourdesdeath for support - and also Lynds for being a huge encouragement. I've got this written, just need to edit, so updates should be fairly frequent (aiming for every other day). 
> 
> Warnings for both characters' canonical backstories - we are opening in 1944, shortly after Charles has found Raven, and Schmidt has found Erik. Therefore there are references to experimentation on children, and to the holocaust. The self-harm tag is only relevant for one chapter, and will be explained by a note at the bottom of the chapter if you would like more detail.

Erik never wrote.

His mother gave him the chance, a pen she had found proffered to him after his rushed Bar Mitzvah, and he’d seen it before. Soulmates were rare, but they happened. You’d write after your ceremony, not expecting a reply, just introducing yourself. In all the ceremonies he’d attended, he’d only seen one get a reply; a young woman who had got an answer midway through opening presents and had run around the synagogue showing everyone the name of her soulmate, the brief introduction written on her arm.

Erik had always found it fascinating, as a child. Sat on his mother’s lap, instructing her what to draw, and then racing to his father to see the words and pictures bloom. He always pouted that his own scribbles never transferred, but he could draw patterns and his father would trace them. Messages flowing back and forth, as easy as breathing.

He’d dreamed of being one of the lucky ones who had a soulmate; wondered what he could write to introduce himself. But by the time he was of age, his own ceremony was without gifts, without any of what he had expected. Instead it came with the knowledge the guards were coming, that they were being moved, and wanting to face what came as a man.

When his mother gave him the pen, he didn’t write. There was nothing to say, no message he could give when his life was in the balance. He traced his finger across his arm, wondering about sending an apology, deciding it was better that if he had a mate, they didn’t know. He put the pen aside and embraced his parents, and listened to the gunshots outside.

*** 

Charles had always been known in the household for being a little professor. 

There had been a time, when he had been able to pass as normal, when that description had just been fond teasing. Now, though, it wasn’t. He had been banned from using the library, sent to school, and pulled home now in the middle of term because his thirteenth birthday was approaching and that brought with it risks.

Even with his stepbrother, he was heir to a large amount of the Xavier fortune, and if he had a soulmate it was likely they would try to manipulate him into snatching it away. That was what his mother’s new husband said. He didn’t believe it, but feared the inevitable arguments that would come if he tried to protest. So he wore long sleeves as the day approached; wondered if he was going to escape this.

The plan for the day itself was risky, but the real risk fell on Raven, not himself, and she had been sure she wanted this. As far as his stepfather, stepbrother and mother were aware, Raven was having a sleepover with a girl she had met in the nearest town. Charles was here alone on his birthday, so that he could be kept an eye on. He would write what his stepfather told him, and if a message came, it would be immediately reported.

He lay in bed the night before. Soon it would be midnight, and he would be thirteen. Old enough for a soulbond to show, if one was coming. Not until later in the day, but his arms already itched with the bandages Kurt had fastened around them, because he wanted this. He wanted to make contact more than he could say.

There was a knock at the door, and Raven skipped in, her skin blue to make it easier to pass unnoticed in the shadows of the night.

“Hello,” he greeted her, and she rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. _You can still change your mind_. 

“I’m sure,” she told him, and then her skin rippled, and he faced himself. She smiled at him with his lips. “We can swap back later. Happy Birthday, Charles.”

He embraced her, burrowing his face into her shoulder, and her hands rubbed his back.

"I ask too much of you."

"This matters to you," she said simply. "You've got what you need?"

He nodded. He had a pen hidden in the space under his bed, with a candle he had taken from the kitchen. He'd be able to write the message unobserved. He'd stolen some spirits from the workshop, to clean his arm afterwards, and he'd practiced undoing and redoing the bandages on previous days. 

"If anything goes wrong - "

"I scream, run out of the room, return in my normal form," Raven told him. 

"I think..." Charles sighed. He knew that his mutation was unnatural in a way Raven's wasn't, that it was unacceptable. He tried not to use the parts of it that people feared the most, but he needed this chance more than he could say. "I think I have persuaded him to look after dinner. You return here after lunch." He had kept the idea gentle, whispering it rather than forcing it into his stepfather's mind. Raven still looked uncomfortable.

"We won't have long." 

"I'll be by the door," he promised her. "You step in and then get behind the door, and I step out, muttering about the tie you gave me. It will work. It will." He wasn't sure which of them he was convincing. But, reluctantly, she nodded. It was strange, seeing his sister's smile on his face, but Kurt and Cain never looked that closely. That was what he was counting on for the two of them to succeed in pulling off this trick.

She lay on his bed and he lay down underneath it, in the gap they had hollowed out. He heard as his stepfather knocked on the door, calling for him, and Raven's voice answered in an echo of his own.

She crouched down, looking under the bed at his hiding place.  
"Good luck!" And with that she was gone, to pass as him for the precious few hours he needed to make his own first contact.

He waited a few minutes, reaching out in his mind for any sign of anger, any hint that the deception had been uncovered. Finding none, he lit the candle, then reached for the bandage, careful to remember how it had been wrapped into place. Today was the first day he might find writing there. It appeared when the younger partner reached thirteen, he'd learned that from his books. The expanse of skin was pale and unmarred, and he frowned a little.

There was no guarantee he even had a soulmate. But he had to believe that he wasn't destined to be alone. It fell on the person who had their birthday to write a greeting, and afterwards you marked your arm each day, a silent presence. A clear expanse of skin at thirteen meant either you didn't have a mate or you were the older of the two. But still, he had a message to write, and he had to hope it would work.

The day ticked on, and he heard the noises of the household, heard the lunch bell ring. It was time. He took a pen and began to write.

‘Hello. My name is Charles. I'll write to you again later, only my stepfather is monitoring communications. If the first word of the message is underlined, that means that my words are my own.’

Most of his arm disappeared underneath the elegant writing. He wasn't sure when he'd next get the chance to message, but that wasn't quite right. He bit his lip, and added a few more words.  
‘I look forward to meeting you.’

He let the mark stay there for a few more minutes, before he took the spirits and used them to clean his arm, rewrapping the bandage. He made sure it looked perfect, then pulled down his shirt sleeves.

 _Charles!_ Raven's voice sounded frantic. _I'm on my way. They want to go and collect me._

 _It's alright. Come back here, slip out through the servants quarters._

_Did you get a message?_

_Not yet._

He got behind the door, and Raven hurried through, passing him some silver cufflinks he'd been gifted. He stepped out to find his stepfather waiting. He fastened the cufflinks into place. He could feel Raven getting further away and knew she'd manage her part of the game.

The rest of his birthday was boring, and he ached from the lack of a response. It was a foolish thought really, but he had hoped that there was someone out there who was perfect for him. He didn't permit himself to linger on those thoughts though.

He ate dinner, feeling a little sick as he sipped a glass of wine and despised the taste. Raven sat opposite him, having been retrieved unscathed. Her eyes kept being drawn to his bandaged wrist.

It was only after they had eaten that they headed to his father's study, and he was told to roll up his sleeve and remove the bandages. His skin was still without marks, but his stepfather took his arm, examined it, then handed Charles a pen, beginning to dictate.

‘Hello. I am Charles, and today is my thirteenth birthday. I hope to meet you soon.’ His stepfather nodded approval when he saw what had been written.

"You can read for a while," Kurt offered, and Charles nodded, selecting a book from the shelves. He was nervous, knowing he was only being shown this kindness when he might be useful, and yet still enjoying the chance to pretend that everything was fine. 

He became lost in the genetics book he was reading, until a slight tug at his arm made him gasp, and he looked down to see the message that had been written.

‘Hello Charles. I am Erik. I am fifteen, it is good to hear from you.’

***

Erik ached. According to the doctor, he was approaching his fifty-third hour without sleep. Schmidt had set him the task of keeping the coin in the air. It had felt easy, when he had begun, but by now his hands were shaking. The room seemed to be spinning, and it was only the pain that awaited him if he let the coin dip that helped him keep it floating.

A sudden pain in his arm threw his concentration, and the coin clattered to the ground. Normally he would have moved to shield his head, but instead he was pulling on his sleeve, seeing his arm. There was a mountain of writing across the skin. He could only pick out a few words though. 

Hallo. Mein Name ist Charles. 

Charles. His soulmate was called Charles, and the rest of it was unintelligible, and a moment later it was gone. 

He was sobbing even before the blows began, and didn't stop until he felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder.

The chicken soup he had been given was warm, and he tried to keep his eyes open.

"You're doing well," Schmidt told him, and he took another gulp of soup. "What threw your focus?"

"I ..." He hesitated for a moment. "I thought I'd seen something."

"I'm unsurprised. Even a fit adult starts to hallucinate around the sixty hour mark, and they aren't as focused as you were."

Erik sipped his soup in silence, waiting to hear if he was allowed to rest. Schmidt flicked through his notebook, and Erik was no longer sure that what he saw was real at all.

"We'll try again tomorrow," Schmidt told him, and he nodded, going over to the corner where he was allowed to sleep. 

His eyelids felt heavy and he allowed them to close, reached out to call his coin to him, wrapped his fingers around the metal. It soothed him to hold it close. He lay still, mentally cataloguing the metal around them - the nib of Schmidt's pen, the front of his boots, the buckle of his belt, the frame of his glasses. Wider, scanning across the building he's been held in, sensing the guns of the guards and the wiring in the walls.

He was finally allowing himself to sleep when something tugged at his arm, and he caught a glimpse of writing there against his tattoo. Part of him, the part that was still Edie's son, wanted to hide what he has found. But the rest of him, Schmidt's labrat, just wanted to survive. He looked at the writing again. He could read the start, but not the rest of it.

Standing was a struggle with how exhausted his body was, but he walked past the guard, going to knock on Schmidt's door.

The doctor looked surprised to see him, until he peeled back the sleeve.

"It's in English," Erik murmured. "What does it say?"

"His name is Charles. He's younger than you, thirteen. He wants to meet you."

Something flared within Erik, a burst of terror and rage at the thought of Schmidt getting near something that should be his, but a moment later it faded. He doubted he would be allowed to reply.

"A pen and paper please, Erik," Schmidt told him, and he reached out, found paper with a staple in a corner and a silver pen. He stumbled, but brought them to Schmidt. Schmidt wrote something out, then handed Erik the pen. "Copy it."

Carefully, he wrote out the English words that meant nothing to him, pausing only when he saw his name. He pushed on with the writing.

"You told him your name," Schmidt told him. "And your age. No more communication tonight, you're exhausted. Tomorrow, we'll see what we can learn from Charles."


	2. Chapter 2

Charles didn’t hear any more from Erik that night. Eventually, Kurt sent him back to his bedroom, ordering him not to reply if another message came. Charles could hear his step-father’s disgust, but he wouldn’t let it worry him. Not when he knew he had a soulmate.

Erik. It could be a foreign name, but it might not be. He wondered where he was, if they would be able to meet, if he would match the exacting standards expected of someone for him, or if Erik would be one more thing to criticise him over. Either way, it was different now. He had a soulmate, and he knew his name. He wasn’t alone.

Even if Erik would never like him because of what he was, he hoped that they could at least write. It was strange, feeling connected to someone whose thoughts were silent to him, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. Maybe one day he would stand near to Erik, close enough to hear his thoughts, to see what he wanted.

Raven was in his room, and she was happy. He pushed the door open and stepped into his bedroom, and smiled at what he saw. Raven had managed to construct a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor beside the bed, which now she was sprawled in wearing her usual blond form. Seeing him, she beckoned him over.

“You’re late,” she feigned strictness, crossing her arms.

“I got a name,” he told her.

She grabbed for his arm, turning it over, but he’d wiped it clean already.

“What is it? What’s she called?”

“He’s called Erik,” Charles corrected, and if Raven was surprised she didn’t show it. “He’s fifteen.”

“That’s…” Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, cuddling him tightly for a moment. “Charles, that’s wonderful. You have to… We should have a sleepover. I already wanted one, but now I want to hear all about Erik.”

“Raven, I don’t know anything about - ” he tried to warn, but she sat up straighter in the blankets and nodded to herself.

“Well, we can guess. You’re going to go to the kitchen and fetch some hot cocoa, and then come back, okay?”

He laughed, but went to do as his imperious younger sister bid, his powers enabling him to move through the mansion unseen. By the time he returned with the two cups, she had retrieved some cookies and lit a couple of candles, by which she was reading a book. He quickly changed into pyjamas, then flopped down beside her.

“So, Erik.” She grinned, putting her book aside.

“I don’t know anything about him. Kurt made me write a formal greeting, he must think I’m boring.”

“He won’t for long,” she reassured him. “You’ve worked out a way of communicating?”

“I think so. He didn’t respond to anything I wrote, so maybe he’s waiting for privacy.”

“You could write now?”

“Kurt might come and check on us,” Charles said firmly, but he couldn’t stop brushing the skin where the writing had appeared.

“Do you think he’s like us?” Raven asked, after taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

“What do you - ” Charles started, and then his sister was blue. He rolled his eyes, and she changed back. “Maybe. I don’t know. You’re the only one I’ve met - ”

“But if he is,” she smiled, “what would you want? Another telepath? No, you’d have arguments all the time, that would be terrible. Maybe someone who could fly, or - ”

“Teleportation,” Charles answered, thinking of the books in his father’s library that he had been cut off from. If Raven knew his reasons, she kept silent about it.

“I think a boy with wings could look cute,” she told him. “Do you want him to be one of us?”

“I don’t mind,” Charles replied. He didn’t mention the truth. That he hoped it would be someone who would accept the state of his mutation, who would allow him access to their thoughts. He had always respected Raven’s desire that he didn’t pry, but he found it lonely. He couldn’t help dreaming of someone who would let him inside, who would allow him free rein to explore and communicate the way that came naturally to him. He couldn’t tell Raven that. She gave him what he could, and he would rather die than take more.

“Actually, wings might be hard to sleep with. Unless you can cuddle them,” Raven considered, between bites of a cookie. 

“Do you think you’ll get a name?” Charles asked, and she shook her head.

“You’re the romantic.”

Charles laughed, the two of them trying to think of what Erik might be like. Charles couldn’t stop thinking about that. He had someone. He had a soulmate, and no matter what happened, he was determined that one day he would meet him.

He hoped he would be good enough for him. He would have to try. The lack of response from Erik bothered him, but there was a chance that wherever Erik was, it was time to sleep. He tried to focus on that, rather than feeling any kind of rejection already. He’d only just got Erik. He couldn’t lose him.

***

Erik woke at a kick in the ribs, opening his eyes at the smell that assaulted his nostrils, and looking up at Schmidt, who was already holding a plate.

“Breakfast is ready.”

He snarled before he could catch himself, bracing for another kick. Schmidt just rolled his eyes and pointed at the table.

“You have porridge,” the man told him.

He makes his way over, falling on the food ravenously. He had almost emptied the bowl when he was handed an apple, Schmidt smiling at him indulgently. It took a moment for his brain to catch up and work out why.

“I wonder,” Schmidt began between bites of food, “if Charles is anything like you.”

For a second, Erik’s mind wandered. He thought of a boy with soft eyes at the synagogue, heard his mother’s laugh as she told him not to break hearts already. He tried to remember the boy’s name, but it escaped him. He remembered that boy didn’t even make it to the train. Caught in his thoughts, he realised Schmidt was still staring at him, and his heart sank as he understood.

To Schmidt, whether or not his soulmate was Jewish was of no more significance than the fact that Charles was a male name. All that mattered was whether Charles had a gift, and Erik hoped that he didn’t. Hoped that Charles could stay far removed from all of this. Erik knew that what he wanted didn’t matter, but it didn’t stop him wanting it.

Erik tried to think the situation through logically, to fight down the wave of terror and anger that bubbled through him. He knew Schmidt had been looking for anyone else like him, and so far he'd found no one. Hundreds of people arrived on each train and there hadn't been anyone else who had showed any kind of ability. It was just him. 

Charles wouldn't be like him. Charles _couldn't_ be like him.

"Erik." Schmidt spoke coldly and Erik looked up at him. "You broke your spoon. Fix it."

Erik looked at the metal that had been distorted by his grip and tried to smooth it. It was easier today than often. The anger and fear that was hard to bring to the surface when he was exhausted flooded him without rest. Once the spoon was fixed he placed it down on the table.

"I hope that we can have Charles brought here," Schmidt said calmly. "It isn't good for someone to be kept separate from his soulmate. I think it would be good for you to have some company."

"I don't want a soulmate," Erik told him, gripping the table, focusing on not distorting the spoon once more.

"But he could help you," Schmidt pointed out. "You wouldn't need to be recovering from your injuries, and you wouldn't be the only one here who isn't human."

"I don't want Charles," Erik said, his voice shaking a little. He couldn't let that happen.

Schmidt had never made Erik kill someone. He said he would, one day, but so far he hadn't asked for it. Erik had always thought he wouldn't kill, sickened at the thought of it - but if Charles came here, if Charles was like him, he would kill him. He would kill him because the alternative was Charles finding himself in this life.

Erik knew he needed to protect Charles somehow, and if that was his only chance then he would take it no matter what revenge Schmidt took. He remembered that first introduction, his coin on the table and his powers too weak to make it move. He could feel the coin in his pocket now, a solid weight. He longed to touch it, to ground himself, but they were having breakfast so he couldn't.

"Erik, would you roll up your sleeve? I want to be able to see if he writes again."

He did as he was told. Charles couldn't be like him. Charles would just be somewhere else and he'd forget he'd ever heard of Erik, and Charles would be happy.

Schmidt was looking towards him almost curiously.

"I think we might get some interesting results today."

***

Charles shifted awkwardly where he stood, awaiting his stepfather's judgement. He held up his arm, sleeve pushed back to reveal the latest words. 

‘Good morning Charles. What is your favourite subject?’

It looked like Erik might be as bookish as he was. 

"That just arrived?" his stepfather asked, and Charles nodded.

"He's European. German perhaps. Are you a traitor, Charles?"

"I'm…" Charles swallowed, looking at it. He knew not all of Europe was America's enemy but he still wished Erik was in the States, the side he was on clear. "I'm not a traitor, sir."

"Good." His step father still looked at him critically, and Charles could feel the fading bruise on his arm where Cain had grabbed him, calling him all kinds of names because Erik was a boy's name. Charles has focused on mentally translating the insults to Greek and Latin, and then seeing if he could use his ability to slip Cain to speaking Latin without his notice. He could, but his stepbrother was clumsy with the language. 

"You are not to tell this Erik about your name or your wealth. If you wish to reply you can, but keep it brief. I want you to keep a record of your communication, and to show me what he says. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Charles said honestly. He understood. He had no intent to comply, not when he had hopes that Erik could be the friend he had dreamed of for so long, but he did understand. 

"Ask his surname, give him a fake one," Kurt instructed and Charles obeyed. 

‘I enjoy science, and yourself?’ he wrote. ‘May I ask your full name? Mine is Charles Hall.’ He thought of the mansion and smirked, only for that smile to fall at the response. 

‘Erik Lehnsherr.’

German then. He could feel the anger radiating from his step father, and took a few calming breaths.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik gazed at the words sprawling across his skin. He knew that they must mean something, but he could never work it out. There were some things he could pick out, words that he recognised - but a lot of it was alien to him. Schmidt didn't help. He'd always summarise what it said and what he was writing, but Erik had come to realise that the words he used weren't exactly what was said. Enough to explain roughly, but not enough that he could use it to communicate.

He held up his arm, staring at the words uncomprehendingly, and Schmidt laughed.

"Oh, Erik, Wonderful."

"What?" Erik snapped, before taking a deep breath and smiling up politely. "What did he say, Doctor?" 

"He says that he can talk to you in private this time. Someone has been watching him."

Erik tensed slightly at that - at the thought that Charles was being monitored and controlled. He had never thought before that their conversation was being spied on from the other side.

"It's probably still a little early to tell him about your powers. So today we'll speak to him about his family and home life. This first." He wrote, and Erik copied, the way that he always did.

"He's asked about your parents. He told me about his family too, but we should reply before I tell you what he has shared."

Erik looked down, hating how desperate he was to know more of Charles, and Schmidt gripped his shoulder.

"If you want, you can tell me what to write. But I've found out a lot about the area in Dusseldorf you grew up... I know your parents suspected your gift."

His words sunk deep into Erik, a mixture of terror and hope. He never had been sure if they'd known, but he'd wondered. Had prayed - back when he still had done that - that he wasn't a disappointment to them.

It was only the sound of a gun being cocked that drew him back to the present, and he looked up to find that Schmidt was staring at him.

"Well, Erik, you know what to do." He aimed the gun at Erik's leg.

Erik's mind slipped away from his latest message and what it might mean, focusing on the metal he could feel. Anger was quick to conjure this time. He wondered if Schmidt had even considered the metal in the watch he wore. 

The gun moved, and he stopped the bullet, and then concentrated on the watch, twisting it slightly, guiding Schmidt's hand so that the gun no longer aimed at him. As he did it he kept the bullet in the air, panting desperately for air in an attempt to stay standing. The gun dropped towards the floor, and Erik caught it, then lowered it carefully, his pulse racing.

He knew he should have been able to shoot Schmidt, but he couldn't. The man was the devil, and he couldn't fight back against him. Schmidt held out his hand for the bullet and Erik dropped it down, taking a deep shaky breath as he began to sob.

Schmidt ignored his tears, rubbing at where his watch strap rested.

"Do be careful, Erik. Now, what should I say?"

"Whatever you wish," Erik answered, copying out the letters Schmidt wrote. Schmidt examined it carefully, clearly happy with what he had seen.

"Erik," Schmidt smiled. "I can tell you that Charles has a sister and a stepbrother."

Erik nodded, tucking that fragment of information away in his heart, and hoping that they were safe. All the time Charles wasn't here, that meant he was protected

He tried to promise himself that they were just normal people, who had normal lives, and that the only difficulty facing Charles was their bond. There was nothing else remarkable about him. He tried to recall what he had written, to piece together a few more words, but it was slow going. He doubted he would ever be able to warn Charles of the truth.

***

Charles stared at the latest writing, surprised a little by how curious Erik had been about his sister. He couldn't help wondering if Erik was different, if he was asking out of hope that he might find someone else strange. It seemed almost every day Raven had another suggestion for a power that Erik could hold. Some of them (such as invisibility) seemed potentially difficult, whilst the idea of someone who could make fire or freeze things with their minds seemed more interesting.

According to his stepfather, caring about a German, a boy who was probably fighting against American soldiers, was treason. But Charles did care. Neither of them mentioned what was happening in their day-to-day lives, other than what Charles explained of his schoolwork. Erik never seemed that interested, but he still shared the information because he liked talking to someone. 

It had been decided that Charles should remain at home until he was ready to go to university. Charles had been devastated, until he had felt the sheer delight rolling off of Raven at the thought of not being so alone, and then he had realised that he would have to stay. Even if he didn't want to, Raven was clearly desperate not to be alone - and he had always promised her that he would take care of her.

His stepfather looked at the messages he exchanged, but other than stopping him from attending school he didn't seem bothered. Charles thought that in a few months he would probably get back to school - he just had to keep the thoughts there, reminding his stepfather that returning Charles would be a good plan. It wouldn't take too long. Not forcing the thought, but persuading him. Persuading him that Raven needed more freedom as well. It would be best for both of them if they were able to go out into the world and make their own choices.

‘Raven is remarkable,’ he answered, then reached for the rubbing alcohol to clean away the ink. He wouldn’t tell Erik why Raven was remarkable, not without her permission. Just having Erik know it was enough. 

Logically, he knew that soulmates weren’t important. They were simply a quirk of human nature, a misfiring that should have no more impact on the course of your life than red hair or telepathy. Only deep down he knew that wasn’t true. The fact that he and Raven were different from other people did matter, and the fact that he had a soulmate mattered too.

Raven walked in, happiness pouring off of her as she held a box to her chest. She flopped onto Charles’s bed, reaching out and opening the box, holding out a cookie towards him.

“You baked this?” Charles asked. “I hope I’m not about to be poisoned - ” He tried it and smiled. “These are really good, Raven.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “Do you think when you meet Erik, I can cook for him or something?”

“I don’t know if I will meet Erik,” Charles admitted. “We’re both preoccupied with other things, and I need to study - ”

“But if you go to Oxford - ”

“If I go to Oxford I will see if he can meet me in the area. And if you are around, it would be an honour to have you cook.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “The maid was helping me with them, I think I’m finally getting them right.”

“Perfect,” Charles told her, and he could sense her pride even without breaking the trust between them. “I was just telling Erik that you were remarkable…” He hesitated. “I don’t... I’d never share your secret unless you wanted me to. It could put you in danger.”

“I don’t want you telling people,” Raven answered, before she smiled slightly. “But it’s alright, you can tell Erik. He doesn’t count.”

“Thank you,” Charles whispered, touched beyond words by his sister’s generosity.

***

Erik was improving. His control was getting better, and he was learning day by day how to hone and use his power. He was working on learning different metals, pulling alloys apart into their separate elements. He knew Schmidt was hoping to do research onto his abilities around electricity soon. That thought frightened him, but not as much as the knowledge that Charles was out there somewhere, utterly oblivious. 

Charles was in America. Logically, Erik knew that was far enough away that Charles would be safe - that whatever happened to him, Charles was an ocean away. But fear still gnawed inside of him. Anger too - at Charles for being his soulmate, at Schmidt for threatening him, at himself for caring what happened.

He’d focused on his studies, and had been rewarded with a little more food. It was easier for him to focus when hunger wasn't gnawing at his insides. 

Schmidt didn't seem to notice that his power was growing. He realised of course that Erik was doing better, able to control more - but he didn't seem to think through what this meant. Because Erik was beginning to wonder if he could get away.

When Schmidt had first taken him, he had known the man was protecting him. Torturing him, frightening him - but keeping him alive. He would have never survived alone. But that had changed.

He glanced at his arm, wondering what Charles was up to. He'd got used to wearing short sleeves, so that Schmidt could see if he was spoken to, but Charles had been quiet. He felt a slight flare of fear in his chest, and used that as he turned to the metal pillar in front of him. It was iron, about half a metre in diameter. He let his power flow into it, focusing on what he was meant to create. He tried to bend it first of all, halfway up. The metal protested, but it twisted itself to his will. 

He took a couple of deep breaths and then he spread his fingers, fixating on the object, slicing it through. There was a moment where it hesitated, before it ripped into five pieces.

The room around him swam, and he would have toppled if not for Schmidt's hand on his shoulder.  
"Well done. Now put it back together."

Erik nodded, taking another breath. He knew this would be a long day, unless Charles wrote, at which point Schmidt would be more interested in what Charles had to say than what Erik could do - something which was worrying in itself.

As far as Erik knew, Schmidt still didn't know either way if Charles had a gift. From what Erik was piecing together, Charles hadn't said yet. He was sure the man was trying to pull the information from Charles, but if so Charles at least had the intelligence not to say. The thought of Schmidt getting Charles helped Erik to reform and straighten the pillar, smoothing over the twists in the metal and reforming it back to how it was before.

He waited a moment, then twisted and tore it apart again. This time into three, and he waved the sections in the air like snakes, braiding them. For a moment he saw his mother as she prepared to go out, but then that thought faded as the metal quivered.

He stumbled forwards again, and this time Schmidt didn't catch him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Quotation this chapter from Ill-Made Knight, one of the four books later republished as the Once and Future King. Warning for self-harm in this chapter - the purpose isn’t to cause injury, but that is still what happens)

Charles was careful to hide his arm from his stepfather. It was one thing for Kurt to know that his stepson was the soulmate of some German boy, but another to see the evidence of it. He got angry every time he saw it, and so Charles tried to keep the communication light, listening to what Kurt wanted him to say.

When they were alone it was different. Erik wasn't always a very good conversationalist, but he at least seemed interested in Charles - in what Charles could do. 

Charles had been debating telling him for weeks. He just needed to work out how to do it.

Raven was sat on Charles's bed, flicking through a copy of The Ill-Made Knight.

"’The boy thought that there was something wrong with him. All throughout his life—even when he was a great man with the world at his feet—he was to feel this gap: something at the bottom of his heart of which he was aware, and ashamed, but which he did not understand ... We do not have to dabble in a place which he preferred to keep secret…’" she read, before glancing over at Charles. "You think he was like us? Hiding from the world his miracles?" She slipped blue for a moment, then back into her normal form, and Charles glanced away.

"You shouldn't read my books," Charles muttered, reaching out and grabbing it, relieved to see she'd left his bookmark in place.

"But what if Erik's... What if Erik is like us?" she asked. She'd been wheedling at Charles about this for a while, and he hated the way it confused him more. He already wanted to tell Erik everything, and the thought of Erik being alone - Erik not knowing there were others out there with powers - didn't bear thinking about.

"What if he isn't?" Charles asked her, placing the book back on the shelf. He wanted to tell Erik, but he was afraid that Erik would be normal, would reject him thinking it was all a joke. Or worse, that Erik would be like them, but not able to accept Charles's difference. That what Charles could do would scare or disgust him. He wasn't sure he could face that.

But if Erik was alone then Charles couldn't be selfish and put his own needs first.

The thoughts continued to circle as Raven sat there, quiet, letting him think. Eventually, Charles nodded, and she held out a pen.

"Tell him about both of us. Then if he's different he'll know, and if he's not, well, he might take it more seriously."

Charles took the pen, glancing at the alcohol bottle he kept on his nightstand to clean his arm. He could wipe this away if Erik didn't answer immediately, and if Erik never wanted to speak of it again he hoped they could continue to write. But the thought that Erik might listen, might not reject him, drove him on.

‘Erik, there's something that I need to tell you. I understand if you are angry - ’ A moment later he crossed that through, and reached for the alcohol, removing the message and trying a second time. ‘Erik, I need to tell you that I am a telepath and Raven can change her appearance. I'm sorry I didn't say before, I was just worried it would frighten you.’

He showed his arm to Raven, who grinned, and then sat waiting for an answer.

Raven threw a cushion at him.

"Charles, you're worrying too loudly."

"Sorry," he murmured, reinforcing his shields so that his fear was a little less obvious.

It was a few minutes before the reply came.

‘Charles, that's wonderful news.’

***

Erik knew fear. He'd known it for a long time, so long that a time before seemed hazy, dreamlike. Something he might have made up for comfort, if only his imagination was that good. He'd felt terror, known it as a constant companion. It was always an unpleasant shock to the system to find that it could get worse. That the terror that had swamped him could find a new way to dig into his bones.

He was practising lifting large pieces of metal. Steel was familiar to him by now, snakes of it twisting across the landscape, but it was always iron that responded best to his overtures, lifting surprisingly easily. He was hungry, and had been on his feet for hours, and that was probably why he didn't notice what was happening. He was concentrating on his task, when suddenly Schmidt stepped forwards, clapping his hands.

"Put that down Erik," he ordered, and Erik did so, staying on his feet as relief rushed through him. Relief that was short-lived when he saw the words on his arm. He didn't know most of them. But he knew one.

Telepath.

Schmidt was beaming at him, and Erik longed to hide his arm, to hide the message even though he knew it was too late, but Schmidt walked closer, grabbing his arm and twisting it so he could see it better.

"Wonderful. Wonderful, my boy." He paused, grabbing a pen and notepad from his pocket, then handing it over to Erik to copy. Erik did so, trying not to allow the letters to shake.

Schmidt had spoken before of the possibility of other gifts. He had said that a telepath would be remarkable. That or a shapeshifter, something truly different to add to his planned collection - and now, now he was going to get Charles.

"What does it say?" Erik whispered, blinking back tears.

"Charles is a telepath. His sister is gifted as well. We'll bring them home soon."

It felt like Erik's stomach turned to lead, a heavy unnatural weight settling within him. The room was spinning, and he wanted to yell, to scream, but he couldn't, he couldn't because Schmidt was there. Schmidt ordered him to carry on with his tests so he stood, lifting the metal once more, trying to ignore the tears slipping down his face.

There had to be more than one Charles Hall in America, and Raven was probably a nickname. It wasn't as though Schmidt could just waltz over there and take them. But he was searching. He wanted Charles. Charles was going to be put through this, and worse, because Erik was only interesting because of his gift. Charles's gift was in itself interesting.

The metal crashed to the floor and it wouldn't lift up again. He tried, bracing himself, panting for air, and then reluctantly glanced towards Shaw, who was observing him with a look of disappointment on his face.

What came next didn't matter. Not compared to the knowledge that Charles was at risk. That Charles was going to end up here.

That night, Erik lay under his blanket, pulling it close, his coin clutched against his chest. He couldn't let Charles come here. He had to warn him. He couldn't call over a pen - they were kept out of his reach. He reached out, feeling the metal hinges of the door, the shoe scraper outside, the cars beyond that. 

He could feel a piece of iron beside him. A nail, bent awkwardly into the woodwork of the wall where he slept. Normally he would pass by it every night and morning, as he surveyed his surroundings. Now he reached out for it, wrapping his abilities around it, keeping still, feigning sleep. If he got caught, he would be in trouble - and with what he was planning to do, he knew he would get caught.

He just had to avoid capture until after he'd got his message across.

The nail slipped free, hovering towards him, and he turned it in front of his face, sharpening it, and plotting out what he would say, before moving his blanket so it covered his arm. He concentrated. He didn't know English. He'd been trying to learn, had come to the point where he could recognise some words, but it wouldn't be enough. He had to rely on Charles being able to read what he was saying. He bit his lip to stay quiet.

Message decided, he began to write it on his own arm, power twisting the metal as he laid still.

***

Charles was reading by candlelight when he felt a sudden pain in his arm. It was quite different from the normal sensation of a pen being rubbed against the skin. When he looked, he found Erik's writing in red - flawless control which didn't match the pain in his arm. 

He stared at it curiously, grabbing some paper to write down what was said. 

'Hör auf zu schreiben. Bitte, er wird dir weh tun. Es ist gefährlich. Sprich nicht mehr mit mir. Bitte. Es tut mir Lei-' 

It meant nothing to him. But judging by the pain he could feel, it meant enough to Erik for his soulmate to cut it into his skin.

 _Raven. I need you,_ Charles called out, loathe to move away in case Erik wrote more, that last letter seeming to end suddenly. His arm stung, and he cradled it to his chest as he checked the spelling over and over.

The door opened, and Raven slipped inside.

"I've asked you to stay out of my head," she muttered, then frowned and raced to him. "Is something wrong? Is it Erik?" 

He showed her the message. They both stared at it, and then a moment later there was fresh pain, crosshatching covering it until the letters were lost and his arm felt like it was burning.

"Raven?" Charles asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "We have to get the German dictionary from my father's study." He looked down. "I wouldn't ask but - "

"If Erik needs it, we can get it."

"Thank you." Charles realised he was shivering, feeling unnaturally cold. Raven sat beside him, pulling a blanket around them both. 

"We'll need a plan," she murmured, and Charles nodded. He needed to know what was happening with Erik now, but worrying wouldn't help. Erik needed him to work this out.

Raven's hand on his shoulder calmed him, and they tried to think.

The next morning, Raven squeezed his hand gently.

"You're sure you can plant the idea and keep him out of the way?"

"I'm sure." Charles smiled at her. "I'll deal with Cain, you deal with Kurt."

She nodded, and then grew, her body broadening, her face twisting, until it was their stepbrother that stood there.

"And you're sure Kurt won't faint from shock at Cain wanting a book?"

"Not when I explain the reasoning," she told him, and then embraced him. Charles tried not to tense, and she shot him a pitying look before she left. 

He headed to find his stepbrother, hoping to irritate him into staying away from the study. Cain was out in the grounds, which was perfect - it would give him a view of his own bedroom and once Raven was back with the dictionary she could draw the curtains to let him know he could release Cain.

The plan worked. He headed back to his room with a couple of new bruises, to find Raven in her own form on the bed.

"Hahnlutschende Nutte."

"What?"

"Cock-sucking whore," she greeted him with a smug smile. "Or rather, rooster-sucking whore. Cock-sucking whore would be 'Schwanzlutschende Nutte'. I leave it to you to decide which one our darling stepbrother would want to insult you with."

Charles rolled his eyes but smiled, reaching out to find Cain's mind, and implanting the idea - that he had borrowed the dictionary to learn how to insult Charles, that he had found the phrase he wanted and lost the book. There was a chance Cain would get in trouble for that, but Charles couldn't bring himself to care. Raven was right. Erik needed this.

Raven sat with him as he stared at the message, slowly putting together what it said.  
"Listen... out - " he tried, and then Raven shook her head, pointing further down the page.   
"Hör auf means stop - " Word by word they pieced together what had been said. The eventual message made Charles's blood run cold.

Stop to write. Please. He will you injure. It is dangerous. Speak not more with me. Please. I'm sorry.

"What do we do?" Raven asked, staring at the paper. Charles tried to keep calm, to stop the terror he was feeling from broadcasting throughout the surrounding area. He took a piece of paper and wrote out a message.

'Hello, Erik. I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were in danger. It will be alright. I'm here.' He used the dictionary, translating it word for word, and then wrote it on his arm over the red.

There was no reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I feel this section needs a warning for Charles’s awful German. I’m sorry, he has only got a dictionary and he is trying his best.)  
> There is some violence in this, but not detailed.

Erik had hoped his message had reached Charles. He'd tried to refuse to cross it out even as Schmidt raged, until eventually he had been unable to withstand it - but he had hoped Charles had seen his warning. The knowledge he would never hear from Charles again stung. Charles had been the best part of his life since they had become soulmates. But he could withstand the pain if it meant that Charles was safe.

He could withstand any pain to protect Charles.

He had thought that Charles would never write again, if he'd seen the message. The reply came within a day. He couldn't respond, but he saw it, the words jumbled but comprehensible. That last fragment stuck with him. 'Ich bin hier'. He wasn't alone. Charles was writing to him, truly to him, and that thought sunk into him over the next days and weeks.

He didn't get the chance to write back for a long time. Schmidt didn't trust him with a pen. Charles seemed frantic, asking if he was alive. Then Charles had an idea, and had written yes and no. Erik circled yes with his fingernail. He lost them as punishment for that, but Charles knew he was alive.

Charles kept messaging. He didn't seem to care if Erik replied - must have hoped that the words were getting through. After a while Charles wrote in English, and then beneath it in German, and Erik used that to learn. He wanted to understand.

Eventually, training resumed. He wrote to Charles in English on Schmidt's command, and received nothing back. Schmidt didn't want Erik to understand the messages. But Charles wasn't playing along with Schmidt, even when Erik was threatened, and Erik was grateful that his wishes were being respected in that way at least.

He felt sick one morning when he found that Charles had written 'Alles ist gut' on his arm, echoing his mother's last words. He had wanted to curl into a ball and sob, terrified he would get anyone that he cared about killed. He made himself work on what he was meant to learn. It was best not to provoke anger.

Time passed. He moved between locations. The faces of the guards changed. The only constants were Schmidt and Charles. Every day he would have testing, and every day Charles would write. Even if it was just a 'Good day Erik' or 'I hope you're alright', there would always be a message. Charles never got any better at the grammar, but he was reaching out. Erik wanted to reply, but it wasn't safe.

Schmidt left Erik when he had to go and talk to other doctors or officers. Erik didn't know what went on outside these rooms, couldn't think about it. His world had narrowed to this place, Schmidt's commands and Charles's words. He had stopped praying a long time ago, but he hoped that Charles would never be found.

"Erik." Schmidt walked back in, a broad smile on his face. "I have had some wonderful news."

Erik tensed, his coin vibrating in his hand. It couldn't be that Schimdt had found Charles. It couldn't be. But Schmidt looked so happy. Erik whimpered slightly, and Schmidt looked at him curiously.

"They've captured a Russian soldier. They've kept him drugged, but they tell me he has red skin, and that he was bounding across the battlefield. I'm going to bring him back here, and you will finally have someone to keep you company…. I'm sorry it isn't Charles, but he will be here soon." With that, Schmidt ruffled Erik's hair, and went to pack a bag, leaving Erik in the charge of a small platoon of guards.

"You will keep up your studies while I am away?" Schmidt demanded.

"Yes," Erik promised. There were instructions given to the guards, and then Schmidt was gone, and Erik could breathe a little easier. 

Erik had thought about escape before. In fact the thought of escape was a constant companion, a last vestige of his mother's son, but he could never disobey Schmidt. Not again. He'd done that for Charles, but he wasn't strong enough to do it for himself. But Schmidt was heading to the border with Russia, and that would give him time - a couple of days at the least - to get away. 

It would be cold outside, exposed to the elements. He practised using a piece of iron, heating it by moving it until it would keep him warm. He worked on using metal to create covers for his fabric shoes that wouldn't last in the mud. He thought of his mother, and of Charles, and when the time became right he took his chance.

Schmidt had made him kill before. He'd always found he felt hollow afterwards, drained. Now he could feel his pulse racing. He'd seen men laugh when they killed, and he had never understood it, but now with the prospect of freedom looming he felt ecstatic. 

He took a bag of provisions and a few small pieces of metal he could use as weapons, and he walked towards the door. He hesitated, before returning to Schmidt's desk and picking up his pen. He twisted it with his fingers, then floated it into his pocket and walked away.

The dead guards would be discovered soon. He needed to get as far away as he could.

He made his way through the woodland, using the sense of the steel rails to guide him away from that hateful place, and he kept moving. He knew the guards would come, but he hoped he could pass unnoticed. He could feel the metal of their guns approaching, and then passing him by as he hid in the hollow of a tree, nausea building. He couldn't believe he'd disobeyed. He couldn't believe he'd got out.

As the sun rose he used the metal to help him clamber a tree, his arms too weak to pull himself up unaided. He nestled into the branches, and took the pen from his pocket, writing a single word on his arm over the mottled scars of his previous warning to Charles.  
'Free.'

***

Charles had been preparing for the start of term when he had felt that tug on his arm for the first time in months. He pulled down his sleeve immediately, glad that he was in the privacy of his room and no one would interrupt. 

'Frei.' 

Even before he found the entry in the dictionary, he was sure that he knew what it meant. Erik had escaped. Whatever had happened before, whoever had frightened Erik - they were gone now. Erik was free.

Charles gazed around the bedroom at his half-packed suitcases and fought back tears. They'd both found their freedom.

He knew Cain thought that Erik had gone silent because he was in prison, while Kurt wondered what he had done to end up there. Charles had decided not to pry. He'd just tried to reach out, to stop Erik from thinking he was utterly forsaken. Erik was not much older than him. Whatever had happened in the war, Erik had been a child at the time. Charles couldn't blame him for those actions. But it was not right to speak of such things.

He hesitated, then picked up his pen, writing the message in English.

'It is good to hear from you.'

He turned to his dictionary, filling in each word in turn.

'Es ist gut zu hören - ' he began, and then writing filled in the last two words: 'Von dir.'

A moment later, another message appeared.

'Ich habe ein bisschen Englisch von dir gelernt'

I have a little English from you learned. 

Charles smiled fondly, writing down 'I missed you'. This time Erik filled in 'Ich' and 'dich', leaving him to only write in 'verpasst'. 

Charles couldn't help feeling proud of that. He wrote out one more message.

'I am free too. I'm going to university.' This one he was left to translate without Erik's assistance, and he wondered if Erik had fallen asleep. It would be late where he was. He decided to leave the writing on his arm for the rest of the day, so that the message would be there for Erik when he woke up. When Charles woke the following morning, he found there was a single word. 

'Gut!'

***

Erik kept moving. He wasn't sure if he was being followed, if he was being hunted. He heard the bark of dogs in the distance and he worried that they were coming for him.

He looked down at his arm to see if Charles had written. Charles was at university now, able to write freely without fear of being observed, and he kept up a constant string of communication.

Erik replied when he could. He was heading towards the city. A city meant metal, meant safety. He'd eaten all the food he had been able to take, but he was used to going to sleep hungry.

He used his metal to lift him into the air, hiding in the branches of a tree, and shivered, pulling his cloak around him. It was cold, and he knew he needed to get new clothing if he was to pass unnoticed. Despite the chill, he turned his arm to look for new writing, answering back that he was well.

'You should come to Oxford,' Charles wrote, the two of them stumbling through the German translation.

For a moment, Erik considered it. He wanted to meet Charles, and he knew that this place wasn't safe. England could offer a new start, with Charles at his side. But deep down he knew he would still be being chased. Schmidt would find him, and he would have led him straight to Charles.

'I can't. It's dangerous,' Erik answered in English. 

'All right,' Charles answered after a moment. 'Well done for your English.'

'I'm learning,' Erik replied, and laughed slightly when Charles wrote a tick on their shared skin, letting Erik know he'd got it right.

He found the city. He stole some clothes and some food, changed his haircut, and then he was moving on, still looking over his shoulder. The barking of dogs no longer carried on the wind, but he was sure that Schmidt was looking for him.

He found a deserted building to shelter in that night. It hadn't been rebuilt after an Allied bombing raid, but there was enough of a roof to keep the wind off, and he could feel the wiring in the rubble around him. He laid down; tried to sleep.

That night, sleep wouldn't come. He kept thinking about Schmidt hunting him, what might happen when he found him. Eventually, he lit a candle, waved the pen over and wrote.  
'I can't sleep.'

'Do you want to talk about it?' Charles answered almost immediately, followed by some words Erik couldn't understand. A couple of minutes later, Charles had translated them. 'I want to avoid writing my essay.'

'No,' Erik answered.

'Du spielen käse?' Charles asked. As Erik tried to work out what that even meant, Charles crossed through käse and wrote ‘schach’. Chess.

'No.'

'Do you know how?' Charles asked.

'No.'

'I'll show you.'

Charles drew a large grid on his arm. What followed was a series of intricate instructions, a list of rules that initially seemed impossible to memorise. But Charles was patient with him, and despite the difficulty in translating by the time the sun was rising, Erik was beginning to learn how to play.

'I really should get back to my essay,' Charles wrote. 'I could persuade the tutor it isn't in for another few days, but I shouldn't.'

'You can do that?'

'Like I told you, I'm a telepath. Did you not - '

'I can do something,' Erik wrote, scribbling on his skin and regretting it before the ink had dried. 'But I can't tell you. Not now.'

'That's all right,' Charles replied. 'Thank you for trusting me. Do you think you'll remember how to play next time?'

'Yes,' Erik answered, and yawned, closing his eyes. He found he was surprisingly tired, and sleep came quickly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far, it means a lot!

Charles passed his initial exams with flying colours. He could have returned home, but he chose to spend the summer in Oxford, and Raven joined him. It was easy for her to pass as a little older, to get a waitressing job. Neither of them had to go back. They were free.

The summer passed in a whirl, and as Charles turned eighteen he realised Erik was now in his twenties. He lay by the river, a scientific paper he was reading weighted down under the flask of tea he had brought with him. 

'When is your birthday?' he asked, surprised it had never occurred to him to ask before. Their initial contact had been so sparse and, he now realised, so controlled, that it had slipped his mind.

'I don't celebrate,' Erik replied, and Charles rolled his eyes. Erik could be incredibly boring at times.

Looking up, he saw a few small children on a punt. One of them was dangerously close to the edge, so Charles sent a thought to them and they rolled back into the centre of the boat. He returned to reading the paper, looking up as his sister came to sit beside him, still wearing her apron. She flopped against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her.

"Good day?"

"Good day," she answered with a smile. "Any news?"

"He's not sharing his birthday with me." Charles pouted, and then beamed when Raven held out some strawberries. "But he's still talking. He's moved again, his hours are all over the place."

"I think he's a spy or something," Raven surmised. "He travels all over the world, seducing women and stealing secrets."

Charles laughed, pushing down the spark of jealousy that threatened. "Perhaps."

Erik didn't offer any information about his life, beyond talking about what he ate or anything interesting in his day. To some extent it did bother Charles, but Erik was always interested in what Charles had to say, so that softened the blow to his ego somewhat.

He and Raven ate a late lunch together and shared a bottle of wine before he returned to his halls and she walked back to her lodgings. He headed to the library, pausing as he approached the stairs. He froze everyone where they stood, holding them still as he clambered up and then releasing them from his grip. He gasped slightly from the effort, but none of them seemed to notice. 

He found a desk towards the back, and wrote to Erik.

'I just controlled a whole library full of people! I'm getting better.'

He had hoped for congratulations. Erik's reply was rushed, the letters sharp, and he could almost feel Erik's anger.

'Who is teaching you? Are they hurting you, Charles? If so I will stop them.'

'Don't worry,’ Charles soothed, frowning a little as he tried to understand how his achievement could have triggered such anger in response. 'I am my own teacher. Ich bin mein Lehrer.' He rarely wrote in German now, but he would if Erik needed the reassurance. There was a pause, before Erik answered.

'Good.'

Erik was clearly in a bad mood. Charles put it out of his mind and got on with his studying. For hours he was lost in the latest theories of evolution and genetics. There were hopes that soon the structure of the genes themselves would be uncovered.

He didn't notice the beautiful blonde woman who was sitting opposite him until her thoughts intruded on his - desire, attraction, warmth. He glanced up and found she was staring at him. Seeing him looking, she licked her lips.

He smiled, and hid his arm beneath the table, pushing up his sleeve and grabbing his pen, Erik's earlier bad mood all but forgotten.

'Erik, have you had sex?'

The answer came instantly, sharp letters blooming across his skin. 

'You know I have an ability. You think I would allow - '

'Calm yourself,' Charles wrote. 'There's a beautiful girl. I thought - '

'You thought you would ask my permission? How delightfully old-fashioned. Enjoy yourself, Charles.'

Charles smirked to himself, rolled down his sleeve and did exactly that.

***

Erik sat in the bar, a glass of wine in his hand. He could feel his arm itching. Charles had been writing for a while, but given the current location and the people he was here to find he could hardly roll up his sleeves. 

Argentina was a beautiful country, which deserved better than the plague that had befallen it. Erik was happy to tidy up a little, to remove a few more of the obstacles that were in the way of him and Charles meeting. The last few days though, they had been hard. He'd seen some things he had thought he'd left behind. Some children had gone home to loving families and he'd been able to instruct them on how to keep their mutations hidden, but he still feared discovery. That some of the 'doctors' who had come here could discover them and one of the children he had found would once again end up under the knife.

So he watched the men across the room, feeling the weight of the knife in his pocket, and told himself he would be keeping those children safe.

He returned to the hotel room to wash, clearing away the flecks of blood from his skin, and finally peeled back his sleeve. Charles had drawn something twisting across the skin and written 'Isn't it beautiful?' Erik stared, wondering if he needed another drink.

'What is it?' Erik asked.

'Deoxyribonucleic acid.'

'In English, Bitte'

'It's inside of you'

'I honestly think I would have noticed.' Erik replied, his lips twisting slightly in a fond smile as he stared at his arm.

'It's the code that makes us up, the very building blocks of humanity. It contains our secrets, the very guide to what we are... It's incredible. They finally know what it looks like...'

'Are you drunk Charles?' Erik found himself asking, unable to wipe his smile away.

'A little. Some friends and I have been celebrating the announcement. Erik, somewhere in here, there's an explanation for what we are, why we're different. We're going to be able to understand.'

Erik took a deep breath, thinking of Schmidt's words on race, but he pushed them aside. He'd known Charles for almost half the other man's life. Charles would never hurt a child. Charles's interest in science was different, Erik knew that. He still felt vaguely sick. Charles wiped his arm clean, and then drew the symbol again. Erik tried to smile.

The next day, he delayed his quest to find out what he could about this acid that Charles was so excited about. Only once he'd convinced himself that Charles's work didn't resemble Schmidt's was he able to relax, pulling up his sleeve again.

'Charles, give me an address.'

'I live at - ' Charles started to answer, but Erik crossed through it. 

'Not your address. I want an address I can send something and it will get to you, but not… Just an address.'

Charles wrote the address of a restaurant and Erik thanked him before getting to work.

Schmidt had always said his powers were to be used for a purpose. Erik doubted that this was what Schmidt had in mind, but he still tried. He finished what he was doing, only to find Charles writing again. Charles's writing was slightly untidy and Erik was sure he'd been having a few drinks.

'Erik. I met a woman.' 

Erik rolled his eyes, a little impressed by his soulmate's unending list of conquests. He was about to say that when Charles continued. 

'Polish. She told me...' He crossed out the last three words. 'She had this - ' That too was crossed out, and there was a pause. 'Erik. I just want you to know, whatever you did in the war, I forgive you.'

'How kind of you, Charles.' Erik wrote, then fastened his sleeve, going for a walk in the night air. He'd delayed his quest for long enough, flirting with Charles because he could, but now he needed to get back to work.

He tried not to look at his arm. Charles's words stung, buried in his mind. Charles didn't know anything. Which meant Charles couldn't forgive, couldn't give Erik some twisted benediction from whatever he thought had happened. If the next few murders were savage, at least there were a few less monsters on the earth.

He still posted his gift.

Two days later, he looked, to find that Charles had written to him, asking why he was quiet. He didn't want to read the words, didn't want to explain. He cleaned his skin, and then a fresh message appeared. 

'Erik, can you remember where I live?'

'With your adoptive brother' Erik replied quickly, instantly on the alert for a trick.

'No, I live in college and it's Raven who is here not... Look, I'm sorry, it's been...a really rather excellent ball, so if you can't help me don't worry, I shall find a bench or something and try not to freeze to death.'

Erik rolled his eyes, amused by Charles. It was strange, two days worth of anger bleeding from him from one message, and a message that didn't even acknowledge what Charles had done wrong.

'I don't know where you live. But you said to send anything to the Head of the River.'

'Thank you Erik x' Charles replied. Erik told himself that Charles was drunk and the kiss didn't mean anything. 

He spread a map out ahead of him, and tried to plan his next steps.

***

Charles had almost forgotten about Erik asking for his address when his sister dropped a small but surprisingly heavy box onto his lap.

"This arrived at work for you," she told him. 

He turned it over, surprised by the South American stamps and the weight of it. 

"What is it?" she asked.

"I have no idea."

"I think it's from Erik," Raven suggested, and Charles felt his heart race. They'd been talking for a long time, but there had never been anything physical, anything other than the shared skin that they used to speak. He didn't know what Erik could have sent.

He grabbed a pen.  
'Erik, have you sent me a bomb?' he teased.

'Not yet, but if you continue to ask ridiculous questions I will consider it. Open it and see.'

Charles laughed softly, unwrapping the paper and string and then opening the box. There was a note and a bundle of fabric. He looked at the note first.

_This is what I can do._

With trembling hands, he lifted the fabric from the box and carefully unwrapped it. What he saw inside took his breath away. A metal sculpture in the shape of a double helix filled his hands. He turned it over. The sugar-phosphate backbone of the sculpture was silver, and the rungs of the ladder, the nitrogen base pairs, were a mixture of copper and iron, the entire shape resting on a solid steel base. The entire piece was seamless, beautiful, with small filigrees of detail running along the sides, finer engraving than he had ever seen.

Raven reached for it, and he reluctantly handed it over.

"That's… That's his ability," Charles told her. "Erik... Erik made that for me." He took it back from her reverentially, running his fingers across it, blinking back tears. It was beautiful. After so long with Erik staying silent about his gift, this was incredible. He gazed at it, not knowing what to say or think, just turning it over in his hands. He was already planning to put it on his desk, an inspiration whenever his motivation left him. He was determined to discover what it was that made the three of them different, that enabled Erik to do this.

Raven's arms wrapped around him, and he rested against her for a moment, overwhelmed by the emotions sweeping through him. He reached for his pen.

'Thank you, Erik. It's remarkable. You are remarkable.'

There was no reply for a long time, and when Erik answered the writing was a little shaky.

'I thought it was time for me to let you see.' 

'Thank you for this,' Charles replied, unable to stop touching the sculpture that Erik had made for him.

That statue was an inspiration as he carried on with his studies, a reminder of what he was working towards.

One day, two years into his PhD research, and something fell into place. 

'Erik. I've found it. I think I've... I think I know.'

'?' Erik wrote back, the sarcasm clear. Charles smiled.

'I think I've worked out what makes us different. I think I can finish this, and use it to find others like us.'

'We're safer in the shadows.' Erik wrote back, and Charles rolled his eyes.

'You're too paranoid at times, my friend.'

'You aren't paranoid enough.' Erik responded, although Charles hoped there was no anger in the words. That was confirmed when Erik wrote more. 'Well done for finding it, Charles. I never doubted you.'


	7. Chapter 7

Erik left the bar in Villa Gesell, smiling to himself. He had considered keeping his tally on his arm before, but felt that it was rather too personal - and anyway Charles would either assume Erik's conquests matched his or else ask rather too many questions. So instead he added the information to his notebook. 

He was closing in. A yacht in Florida. Schmidt was within his grasp. It was easy enough to arrange transport towards the site.

He stayed in a boat by the quayside once he had identified the Caspartina, not wanting to let it get away. He could feel the weight of it, a heavy presence on the edge of his mind. He waited for night to fall. 

Erik's coin floated through the air as he lay in his bunk. He knew that he should keep his powers hidden, but he was full of energy, nearly buzzing with it. He had to concentrate to avoid lifting the entire ship. He was going to put an end to it. The monster that haunted his nightmares would be dead.

He reached for his pen, wanting to tell Charles that he would see him soon, that he would be able to meet. Instead, he found that Charles had already written.

'Erik, I've had a rather interesting day.'

From what he knew of Charles, Erik suspected his idea of an interesting day might be very interesting indeed. 

'Would you like to talk about it?'

'There was a woman - ' Charles began, and Erik snorted slightly, catching his coin as it fell out of the air. As though knowing he was laughing, Charles added, 'No. Not like that. I've got a new job.'

'A professorship already?'

'I've had to pause the studies briefly I'm afraid. The CIA are looking for me. It turns out one of their agents... She saw some truly remarkable individuals. A woman with skin like glass, and a man who had red skin and could disappear. The man they're working for, Shaw, he is threatening to bring about Nuclear War, and, well, I've volunteered to help track them down.'

'You're working with the army?' Erik asked, and he could hear that the doorknob was rattling, the bed bouncing slightly against the floor as the picture frame creaked. He took a deep breath.

'I'm getting the army to help us. If someone else out there is using people with powers...then we need to reach them. We need to help them, because otherwise people will hate us. You're always worried about that.'

'That doesn't mean we should roll over and serve as army dogs.'

'Erik. I promise you, I'm being careful. If things go wrong, they will forget me, I'll make sure of it. But I have to find this man, before he uses our kind in an act of war.'

Erik shuddered. He knew how desirable their kind were as weapons, and he feared what America would do now their army had Charles. If he had had any caution in his mind, it faded now.

'Charles. I have to do something, and I can't promise that I'll be around afterwards. But if I am, I'm coming to find you. Just don't let them hurt you, please. Promise me you won't let them.'

'Erik, you're - '

Erik drew a line through Charles's words before he could finish.

'No. Charles, I need you to promise me that you won't let them hurt you. I know you're powerful enough for it.'

'Erik, I promise. What are you planning?'

'Goodbye Charles. Look after yourself.'

Charles started a reply but Erik had already rebuttoned his sleeve. He couldn't see what Charles said next. He was too afraid it would make him pause, that it might stop him from doing what he had to. He picked up his knife, strapping it to his leg, and went to face the bastard who had destroyed his mother.

***

Charles stared at his arm, feeling sick.

Moira walked over. "We don’t have time for this. Charles, we need you up top if you can find Shaw, we've found his boat." She noticed the marks on his arm. “You have a soulmate?”

"I do. He... He just... He just said goodbye to me," Charles murmured, gripping onto the railing. "He told me he had to go and do something, that he might not be around... Moira, I can't... I can't lose him. Not now."

"Do you want me to get agents to collect him?" she offered, and if she was surprised Charles's soulmate was a man she wasn't saying it. Charles shook his head.

"I don't even know which country he's in," he whispered, and then looked at her. "You... If I do this, we can find him? I know his name. The CIA can help me - "

"Of course. But for now, we have to find Shaw."

Charles nodded, letting Moira lead him up on to the deck of the ship. He made his way to the railing, gripping it as he placed his hand by his head, trying to focus. He could pick out three minds - two in English, another disguised by a foreign language. There was another mind, somewhere in the bowels of the boat, that was heading towards the deck - other foreign thoughts. He focused on the minds on the deck, and then suddenly something stopped him, like a wall crashing into his ability.

He could feel Moira's eyes on him. 

"I've... I've lost Shaw. There's something blocking me. This has never happened to me before... I think there's someone like me on that ship." He'd known that Shaw was using mutants. But he hadn't expected that his abilities could be used against him.

"Like you?"

"Sorry, a telepath, this is actually...incredible. I can feel her inside my mind. I'm sorry, I don't think I can be any help to you - " he told Moira, throwing up shields, feeling it as the woman's power bounced off of them. 

In front of him, boats were thrown aside. There were other mutants on the ship, and they were powerful. Someone grabbed his shoulder, pulling him inside, but he could feel something else. Another mind, in the water. He froze, turning back as the anchor rose up into the air. He ran back outside, staring. Another mutant - one attacking the ship. The anchor crashed through it, tearing the ship in half as they stood powerless. Charles tried to reach out, and was turned back by the sheer fury the man was feeling. The other minds were moving away, under water, and then so was that one, approaching his boat. 

Charles realised that the man was furious with Shaw - he could feel waves of anger, almost too strong for coherent thought. The need for revenge, the sense of horror, of fear, of death. The man was drowning. The man was drowning because he was holding on to the submarine using his ability, and suddenly Charles saw a dead woman on the ground. Flickers of other memories followed, strong and edged with terror and desperation. Shaw had hurt this man, killed his family, and now Shaw was going to kill him. He couldn’t survive this.

"You have to let go!" Charles tried to scream, begging the soldiers around for help. No one moved. Charles could see the man struggling, knew there was no way he was going to let go of this, even if it killed him - but the man wasn't strong enough to stop the submarine. It was going to go into a dive and it was going to drown him. 

The man was pulled fully beneath the water and Charles started to run, throwing off his jacket. He had to get that man, he couldn't let him drown. He jumped and managed to land on top of him, the man's power still pulling them both as he tried to shake him off. Charles clung on, trying to reach for his mind, scanning for a name.

 _You can't. You'll drown. You have to let go. I know what this means to you but you're going to die._ The name came from the man's mind, Shaw sneering it, but he didn't look like Shaw then, he was older somehow, monstrous. The memories of a child who had seen his mother murdered. He could read Shaw's lips. Kleiner Erik Lensherr.

Charles gasped, water flooding in, and he nearly let go but he couldn't. If he let go neither of them was going to make it.

 _Please. Erik. Calm your mind._ Erik's concentration broke enough for Charles to be able to pull him away. He swam back towards the surface, Erik's body limp against him. Erik couldn't be that common a name, but now that he had saved him he didn't want to look too deeply. He spluttered to the surface, scrabbling to stay on top of the water, and Erik did the same, coughing.

"Get off me!" Erik snarled, trying to shove him away. "Get off me!"

Charles could feel the coins in his pocket shaking.

Erik. An Erik that could control metal. But if Erik wasn't careful they were both going to drown.

"Calm down!" he tried to yell, turning to the ship. They'd moved a surprising distance in the short time. "We're here."

"Get off me!" Erik spat at him, and Charles grabbed onto his shirt.

"My name is Charles Xavier." _But you know me as Charles Hall_

Erik stared at him, gasping for air.

"Charles?"

Charles pulled up his sleeve, showing the writing. It had been half washed away, but he could feel the moment Erik realised it was true. Erik looked at him, his eyes wide and Charles could feel the uncertainty flooding him.

"Erik?" He reached for his hand as the ship approached. "You're not alone."

"I failed," Erik told him, as a ladder was thrown down. "I wasn't meant to see you until he was gone - "

"We can stop him together." Charles reached for the ladder. "I didn't know you were looking for him." He pulled himself on deck. Erik followed, watching the soldiers with barely hidden fear, and Charles could sense how Erik wanted to leave, how Erik could feel every gun they were holding. Moira handed him two towels, and he draped one around Erik, reaching for his arm.  
"Please. He's been through a lot." He turned to the men around them. "I need to talk to him alone. He has information about Shaw." He sent a wave of agreement out into the crowd - it might be unethical, but this was his soulmate. He pulled Erik into the room he had been given. 

Once they were alone, he started to laugh, reaching for Erik.

"That was incredible Erik. You're so powerful, I mean... I saw what you did... My paperweight, but I never... I never dreamed you could do so much... oh!" He grabbed his pen, patting his arm dry and writing 'hello!' on his skin. "Show me! I want to see it."

Erik hesitated, and Charles could see the uncertainty there.

"You...don't."

"I've dreamed of this day for so long, Erik. Please." _Bitte_.

Erik hesitated, but nodded.

"You were inside my memories."

"I found your name. I saw he killed your mother, that he... It was flashes, that was all. I won't look again without permission."

Erik reached to unbutton his shirt. Charles was laughing at him for undressing so thoroughly, until the fabric parted and he saw the scars that littered Erik's body. Erik said nothing, just pulled his other arm from his sleeve, before turning to the one that held the writing, the one Charles had longed to see for so long.

As he pushed his sleeve away, Charles could see a lattice of scarring.

"Schmidt," Erik explained. "The man you know as Shaw. When he found that I had written to you."

"That was… How did you do it? I assume you used some metal or - " Charles's words died on his lips as Erik pulled off his shirt entirely. There on his arm was Charles's greeting, the words crossing through what was already there. A number etched into Erik's skin. 214782.

"Shaw?" Charles whispered, even though he knew. Erik turned to look at him coldly.

"Before him. You said you forgave me for what I did."

Charles stared at him, horror mixing with anger and hurt. Erik had never told him. 

"I didn't know," Charles whispered, hesitating. Erik nodded slowly, and Charles reached out, his fingers brushing over his skin.

"I will kill him, Charles. I need to," Erik was saying, and Charles could feel memories now, Erik pushing them at him. Erik killing, even as he wrote to Charles, even as they flirted and joked and discussed his thesis. Erik had been murdering people, and none of it made sense, none of it was his Erik. 

"We… We can talk about that later," Charles murmured, trying to push down his sickness and confusion. "We... We're together now. You... You should meet my sister. Come on."

"Stay out of my thoughts, Charles," Erik muttered as he pulled back on his soaking shirt, and Charles nodded, feeling a little dizzy. He should have known that he would never be accepted.  
But then Erik turned, and just for a moment he smiled.

"Was that really your best attempt at you keeping your promise to stay safe Charles?"

"I jumped into some water after a drowning man." Charles crossed his arms. "And I'd do it again."

"I know. Still. Maybe Raven will be more sensible." With that, Erik headed to the door, pausing for a moment so Charles could catch up.

***

Erik couldn't stop looking at Charles throughout their meal. He hated it, crowded onto benches and surrounded by soldiers, but Charles gave him something to focus on that wasn't the memories that threatened. Raven kept grinning at him, as though she expected him to do something. With a roll of his eyes, he levitated her fork. It was barely a challenge, and yet she squeaked in delight. He smiled, but the smile faded when he saw her curiosity mirrored on the faces of other men. They were scientists here, they'd want to experiment. To understand. His own fork bent and he shuddered as he repaired it.

Charles kept looking at him, biting his lip and looking away. The telepath had at least made no more attempts to get inside his head, so eventually Erik took pity, stealing a pen from one of the soldiers and writing to Charles. He could feel people looking when he rolled his sleeve up, knew they'd seen the tattoo. He stared, meeting their eyes, daring any of them to challenge him.

'You look unhappy.'

"I'm not…unhappy," Charles answered out loud. "Just...today has been very long. I wonder if...I might retire to bed soon." He paused. "Telepathy… The use of our powers is very draining - " Erik could pick that out for a lie, to some extent, and he was proud of Charles. Keep them unaware of the scale of what you can do, and you'll be able to climb over the walls they place in your way. He'd told Charles that once, and it seemed Charles had listened.

Moira glanced between the two of them.

"We can get back to the department if you want - "

"Perhaps Erik and I could have a few moments before to rest?" Charles asked, and she hesitated, glancing at the officers. Erik saw her lean in to whisper to someone and chose to ignore it, focusing instead on not crushing the watch of the man he and Charles followed down a corridor to a cabin.

"You two - " The man looked between them. Charles nodded, and he walked away. Charles pushed open the door, and Erik moved to rest, laying on the bed propped up on his elbows, facing Charles standing awkwardly by the wall.

"You can't let them see what you can do," Erik pointed out.

"Says the man who just lifted a submarine."

"It sank. I hardly lifted it," Erik answered, wondering if he should roll onto his side, offer Charles an escape from his gaze.

"Still." Charles sat down on the edge of the bed. "We..." He hesitated. "We should talk. About this. I didn't know you were chasing Shaw, and I didn't know what he had done to you. I'm... I'm sorry. I don't..." He hesitated, reaching to rest his hand on Erik's shin. "I don't know if..." He sighed again, his hand coming to rub his forehead, and Erik tensed. Charles opened his eyes again.

"Just a headache, my friend. I won't look inside your mind if you don't want me there. I give you my word."

Erik nodded, and Charles continued, clearly picking his words carefully.

"I very much would like to see inside your mind, but I understand if that's uncomfortable and I won't push it. We never talked about what being soulmates means. I want... I am attracted to you. Erik, I have been for a long time, but beyond that... I don't know where you stand. You never spoke of a lover, or - "  
"There have been a few." Erik assuaged that particular fear. "Normally when they have something I want and it's the easiest way of getting it. We don't all have telepathy and, whatever you think of my actions, I do try not to harm innocents."

Charles nodded, taking a moment to process that. His hand was still resting on Erik's leg. "And your feelings towards me?"

"My feelings remain unchanged. Until Schmidt is dead, he poses too great a risk. The tortures he'd dreamed up for you, Charles... I cannot be here. I cannot be with you, and pretend to make a life, when he is going to come and find us both. You've drawn his attention now."

"He already has a telepath - "

"He does. But he's been fixated on you for a long time. You're... Like you said. You are my soulmate. And if not for yourself, then what of Raven? I can see she would be useful."

"Raven would never serve a - "

"I did," Erik interrupted, the lamp on the desk behind him folding in on itself. "You think your sister immune to torture? I've never met a man who is. Charles. Believe me, there is nothing more than friendship I can offer you until that man is in his grave." With that, Erik stood, and headed from the room. He heard Charles call out after him.

In a childish flick of anger he closed and locked the door, hearing Charles banging on it. He waited until he was out of sight before he unlocked it.

Charles avoided him until they were in the base, surrounded by government men and their tests. The entire situation made Erik's skin crawl, as Charles was polite to people who would see them cut open and hurt.

An uneasy truce settled as they found others of their kind and recruited them to their cause. He wanted to allow Charles closer, but he knew he couldn't. Until Schmidt was dead, he couldn't offer Charles more than friendship, and even that was conditional on him not being a distraction.

And then Schmidt was dead, and Charles was the one to send him away.


	8. Chapter 8

Charles hated the hospital. Most of all he hated the fact that neither Erik nor Raven visited him. They didn't know he was there, he realised that, but it still stung. Hank visited, and the children sometimes - but no one knew what to say when he told them it was permanent. They all murmured awkwardly and changed the topic, but he could feel the concern coming off of them. He despised being pitied, but he wasn't yet able to show them that he could cope.

It was Hank visiting today, while his body was still recovering from hours of physical therapy. Muscles in his arms which he hadn't even known existed were aching, and he had half-fallen getting into his chair earlier, his legs unwieldy and awkward. He wanted to rest. But Hank had made the effort to visit, so he knew he had to try and welcome him. 

He propped himself back on the pillows, allowing Hank to fuss over him for a little while.

"I've organised modifications for one of the downstairs rooms to turn it into a bedroom and bathroom," Hank told him. "You can stay there, at least until we work out how to solve the, uh... How to get you up to the higher floors."

"Thank you, Hank. That won't be necessary." Charles sighed. He wasn't sure he even wanted to return to his old room - it was next to Erik's, the study they had both used on the other side. It wouldn't feel right, to be there alone. He could still picture Erik sat across from him, a chess piece in his hand as they argued late into the night, the game forgotten between them.

"You think all men are like Shaw," he had snapped, angry at the fact Erik had been taken in by the other man's lies, that Erik wouldn't listen to what he was saying and think about it the way Charles knew he could. He'd mostly obeyed the order to stay out of Erik's mind, aside from with the satellite dish, when he'd been invited in, but Erik had a beautiful mind. He shouldn't have believed in that filth.

"And you think all men are like you," Erik had thrown back, taking an angry gulp of whisky. "I have to kill him. Then we can talk."

"There must be another way - " Charles had argued, and Erik had walked out, abandoning their game half-played.

Charles wondered, absently, if Erik remembered the game. He rolled up his sleeve, held his hand out for Hank to give him a pen.

'We can finish the game if you'd like.' Charles offered.

"Has he been in contact?" Hank asked.

"Not yet," Charles admitted with a sigh. "I've been writing, but so far, no response. That CIA break-in… He must be alive, at least."

"Have you told him?" It was a sign of how exhausted Charles was that it took him a moment to realise what Hank was asking.

"I can't," Charles told him simply. "If I tell him the extent of my injury, he will run straight back to my side, and care for me, and hate me for it. He will spend the rest of his life in penitence for something that he did not mean to cause."

"He still caused it," Hank muttered, but he didn't push the matter, instead informing Charles how preparations for the school were going. Charles listened, eager to know more until he found himself yawning.

"You should rest," Hank instructed. "I'll come again tomorrow. I think Alex is going to come and visit. I apologise if he says anything dreadful."

"I know he means well. I don't think he quite knows how to handle this," Charles sighed. "Not that I do either. Still, if there is any news of my sister - "

"I'll let you know. Don't worry, Charles. Just focus on getting better." With that, Hank left Charles alone.

Charles wished he could reach out to Erik, just to know that he was all right. But he couldn't, and even if he was capable of it he knew it would be wrong. He still had hold of Hank's pen.

'Erik. Please, just give me a sign that you're alive.'

***

Erik's life, for almost as long as he could remember, had been driven by one simple goal: Find and kill Schmidt. And now, the man was dead. There had been times, a few precious moments when he had allowed himself to be foolish, to daydream of what might happen after the man was gone, how he and Charles could live. How it would feel to not be afraid.

But now he knew he had been wrong. The humans still wanted to kill his kind, and Charles, darling, brave, steadfast Charles had sent him away into the wind as though what they shared meant nothing. He understood though. He didn't fit in with Charles's ideas of what people should be. He had lived too much, known too many monsters. He didn't fit into the world Charles wanted, even if Charles was part of the world Erik longed for.

So he turned his back on Charles. He focused on leading those Schmidt had left behind, on protecting those the humans would torture. Charles settled as a constant ache, an absence that nagged at his mind every second and yet one he couldn't acknowledge. He didn't look at Charles's words. He was glad for his helmet, not wanting Emma to see how much he was struggling, but she still cornered him one evening, resting an arm on his shoulder. 

"I can create illusions," she offered. "If... If you want to talk to him, or... Well, anything you'd like, I'm at your disposal."

He shook his head, a little sickened at the thought.

"No, thank you. He's the past now. I can't live in an illusion."

"As you wish." She wandered away, and Erik sighed, rubbing his forehead, realising that he'd picked up that gesture from Charles. If Emma was sensing his struggles even with the helmet, he supposed that meant he would have to try and deal with it.

He locked the door to his room, fusing it with a wave of his hand, and then pushed up his shirt sleeve.

It had been a month since he had left. Charles had written again. He normally only caught glimpses as he washed, letters covering over the old marks. But now he was looking. 

'We can finish the game if you'd like. Erik. Please, just give me a sign that you're alive.'

It was tempting to just roll down his sleeve and pretend he'd not seen it, but he knew that would do nothing to resolve the situation. He hesitated, not knowing what to write. He couldn't apologise, not when he had managed to do what he had longed to. He couldn't ask Charles to understand because he knew he couldn't. 

Still, Charles had given him an option. He considered, picturing the board in the study in his mind, and then carefully grabbing a scrap of paper and writing down what he remembered.

'Ne5'. He sent back. Charles knew he was alive, and what's more, he was winning the game.

***

Charles was glad to leave the hospital behind, even as he hated returning to the mansion. It felt wrong, being there without Erik or Raven. Hank had tried to help him dress and use the bathroom, but Charles had sent him away, too proud and too ashamed to accept his help.

 _I'm sorry, Hank,_ he sent in apology, guilt twisting inside of him.

 _It's okay. I know this is tough for you,_ Hank replied, ever patient. _I'm just checking on Darwin, then I'm going to bed myself._ Charles had got into bed, feeling Hank's concern and the children's fear floating through the air. 

The only positive news since his accident had been the reappearance of Darwin, who was taking time to recover as well, often asleep when Hank went down to the med-bay to check on him. The med-bay was currently impossible for Charles to get to without Alex carrying him, something he refused if possible on grounds of embarrassment. 

In the middle of the night, after Hank had stopped fretting about putting him to bed, he wheeled himself to the kitchen, wishing his presence would conjure Raven the way it had as a child. She wasn't there, of course. She wasn't going to be there again, because she had left him, like Erik had. He sat in his chair, facing the refrigerator, and wept. He had to be strong, to be there for their kind, but he was alone and it hurt more than he could explain. He knew he was lost in his memories, sinking into self-pity, but he allowed himself to feel for a short while.

Raven wasn't going to appear, and sitting there crying wasn't going to change anything. He reluctantly made his way back to his bedroom and into bed, staring at the wall, before reaching for his handkerchief to dry his eyes.

Erik had been in constant contact for the past few weeks, if you could call it that. He was busy thrashing Charles rather impressively across games of chess - they were now on their fifth, and Erik had won three. Charles pulled up his sleeve to check Erik's latest move, adjusting the set on his bedside table accordingly and then replying.

'Bc4 You know, I never would have taught you if I'd known you were going to win all the time.'

Erik's reply came quickly - he was clearly also struggling to sleep.

'Bh4'. No words to accompany it. Charles pushed down his bitterness at that. Erik had made it very clear that he was willing to communicate, if only by chess moves. Charles moved the pieces, considering what to do next. He closed his eyes, pushing down the urge to beg Erik to come back. Erik had made it clear he didn't want to.

The two of them traded moves for almost an hour, when Charles could feel exhaustion claiming him. He was still nowhere close to his former fitness.

'Goodnight Erik. I'll resume play in the morning.'  
'Goodnight Charles' appeared on his arm, then was wiped away, so fast that he thought he might have imagined it. But he knew what he had seen. Erik was talking with him again, and his heart raced in his chest. He had hope.

He woke in the morning to find that Hank had made some bacon pancakes. He ate ravenously, his sleeve rolled up so that he could see if Erik wrote again.

"I don't get why you're checking," Alex muttered between bites of his own food. "He made it pretty clear where he stands."

"I guess it's not that easy," Hank said. "I mean, you've been in and out of the med-bay all week checking on Darwin."

"That's different," Alex snapped. "He didn't break my fucking spine."

"Language, Alex," Charles muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Let's not argue this morning, okay?"

"Who is arguing?" Darwin asked from the doorway, leaning against it. "Hey."

Alex was on his feet in an instant, helping Darwin over to a chair.

"Charles and Erik are arguing," Sean supplied. 

"I... hear I missed a lot," Darwin muttered, grinning as he helped himself to the remainder of Alex's breakfast. "Good to see you all." He paused. "Hank said Erik killed the guy that murdered me?"

"Yes," Charles answered, and Darwin laughed.

"Cool. Like, I don't know...but Hank said they had history or something."

"He'd been hunting him for a long time," Charles said carefully. 

"Well, glad he's got rid of him then." Darwin shrugged.

Charles nodded smartly, wheeling away from the table with a mutter about needing to go and take some medicine. Hank frowned a little.

_You're not due any pills?_

_I need privacy,_ Charles shot back, heading to the library. He tried to think about Shaw. He had barely been able to hold him for as long as he did, and Charles couldn't think of any way that Shaw could have been contained within the prison system. 

Charles had only seen flashes of Erik's memories, but what he had seen had told him a lot, made worse when he considered the hints he'd been given at the time. Shaw had killed Erik's mother, tortured him, and would have killed every human on earth given the chance. 

Nausea bubbled inside of him as he realised that about this, at least, Erik had been right. Erik was wrong about humans, but, he thought, deep down Erik knew that. He swallowed, and grabbed his pen.

'Erik, you were right. Shaw needed to die.'


	9. Chapter 9

Erik felt the message come through, but he ignored it while he ate with the others. He needed to be around them, to make them feel that he respected them and all that kind of thing. He couldn't be running off every few moments to speak to his soulmate like a teenager. So he listened to Azazel tell a joke in Russian as Emma translated it under her breath to the others. It almost felt like being home. If he tried hard enough, he could believe he was happy here.

Mystique looked over at him, stretching slightly and then transforming back into her human appearance.

"Erik, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Whenever you'd like," Erik agreed, excusing himself, glad to get away from the others for a moment. He turned to her.

"What's wrong?"

"You're... You miss him."

"You're not a telepath, Mystique."

"I don't need to be." She sighed. "I know...you were close. For a long time. I miss him too." She reached out, wrapping her arms around him, and Erik returned the embrace, running his hand down her spine gently, trying to soothe her.

"He'd be proud of you, Mystique," he promised. "We're helping our people."

She nodded, and then squeezed his hand. 

"Just...let me know if he stops writing to you."

"I will," Erik agreed. "But he's continuing to play chess for now. Badly, but he is playing."

"And I thought you distracted him with your good looks," she teased, patting his arm and then walking away. Erik let her leave, his thoughts lingering on the easy way Charles would brush against him. Physical contact was something he had never been used to before he had met Charles, and something he missed. He tried to clear his thoughts, but he couldn't. He rolled up his sleeve, knowing Charles had written more than a chess move, and considering if his message the previous night had been a mistake.

'Erik, you were right. Shaw needed to die.' 

There, on his skin, in Charles's beautiful writing, was a message he could barely believe. He knew it was true, but he had never imagined that Charles would give him this, that he would concede such a point.

A wave of his hand called a chair over to him, and he sunk into it, staring at his arm, trying to will himself to believe that Charles meant it. He brushed his fingers across the ink, wondering how to reply. It felt as though things had shifted. Like the first time he and Charles had met. Like the coin falling to the floor behind Schmidt. Things had changed. His entire life was changing, and he couldn't understand where he stood. 

It had been simple when all that had mattered was killing Schmidt. But the man was dead, and Charles... Charles had sent him away. And Erik had tried. He'd done what he could to move on, to take over those Schmidt had left behind and find a way to protect their kind, and not to listen to the pain he felt every time he thought of Charles.

Charles who hadn't _forgiven_ him for killing Schmidt, but accepted that it was necessary. Erik had expected forgiveness, been ready to argue, to hiss and snarl and fight against it because it didn't need to be forgiven. 

But Charles had agreed.

Erik sat staring at his arm for a long time, before he reached for a pen. He'd never felt hesitant about writing to Charles, not like this. Writing had always been easy. But now he was frozen, unsure what to say. He brought the pen down on his skin.

'I was.' He wrote, then crossed it through. Too gloating, too angry. He couldn't congratulate Charles either, not without sounding bitter.

'It's good to hear from you. I hope that the school is going well.' He frowned, disliking the fact that his writing looked shaky. His hand had trembled. He never trembled.

'Well enough.' Charles replied, almost instantly. 'I've missed hearing from you.'

'Is that why you said - '

'I said it because it's true,' Charles wrote. 'I didn't understand then, but I want to. You know me well enough to know that I wouldn't lie, Erik. Not to you. Not about this.'

Charles had to wipe away the words to free up space, and Erik felt dizzy, but he knew what he had seen. Knew what Charles had said.

'Charles?' he wrote, and smiled when Charles's pen drew an answering dot on their skin. 'Thank you.'

'Thank you for giving me another chance.' Charles answered.

'I have to go.' Erik wrote, needing time to think, rolling down his sleeve and returning to the others, wondering if Charles was right. If he really was prepared to give him - to give them - a second chance.

***

Charles sat in his study, staring at his arm, seeing Erik's words lingering there. They had spoken, and Erik seemed willing to listen now that Charles had backed down. He should have backed down before, should have tried to understand what Erik was telling him, but he'd failed.

It was all right. He could fix this. Charles had always been patient, and the past few months had taught him just how patient he could be, as he worked on rebuilding his strength. Erik was open to talking to him. That mattered.

'Darwin's back, he and Alex seem to be getting on well. He misses you. They all do. I do.' He wrote, wondering if he was coming across as overly desperate. Probably. He was desperate, he missed Erik, and now that he had communicated with him he was feeling hope. Hope was dangerous, but it kept him going. He glanced across the desk at the paperweight Erik had made him, running his fingertips over the carefully formed rungs of the sculpture. It was beautiful. 

The man that had made this was the person Charles loved. It had been an act of kindness, of devotion. Even then, when he must have been hunting people who he thought deserved to die, Erik had been capable of this.

Charles just wanted him home.

Erik was silent the rest of the day, so Charles busied himself with his correspondence, until the sun was setting and Hank came to call him for dinner. He was eating when a message appeared, the end of it sticking out from the cuff of his shirt.

'Can you make someone forget a language?' Erik asked.

'Possibly, especially if it was learned later in life, but it's hardly ethical. Why?'

'If I hear one more smutty Russian joke I am going to stab someone with a spoon.'

'So is it you or Azazel you want to take the understanding from?'

'Currently Emma.' Erik answered, and Charles smiled to himself, focusing on the messages.

'Bring her here and I'll see what can be done.' Charles shot back, before hesitating and adding more. 'You can come back, I mean. If you want to, Erik. There's space for you here, always.'

Erik didn't respond again, and Charles finished eating dinner, heading back to his room and rearranging the chess board to reflect their latest moves.

'I can't come back, Charles.'

'You can. The door's open, and we both know locks don't keep you out.'

'You sent me away.' The accusation was written almost shakily, and Charles brushed his fingers against it, wishing he could hold Erik close, and tell him it was a mistake.

'I know. I shouldn't have.' Charles agreed. 'Is Raven doing well?'

'Mystique is, yes. She prefers that name.'

Charles nodded, knowing that Erik couldn't see. He mouthed his sister's new name to himself.  
'Would you please tell Mystique that I love her dearly, and that she will always be my sister.'

'Of course. I'm sure she knows. If you will leave that there for a few minutes I can show her.'

There was a pause, and then Erik wrote.

'Hello, sorry, Erik's scribing for me but I'm doing well and I miss you a lot, I hope that the school is going well. He's taking good care of me. Anyway, it's late. But you're still my brother.' There was a pause, and then Erik wrote Mystique's signature - Charles supposed it was Mystique signing her name and Erik tracing over it.

'There you go, Charles. She's quite well.'

'Thank you, Erik. I appreciate that.'

There had been a time when messages like these passing between them had been enough. When Charles had been happy with whatever communication Erik was willing to share. But now, having spent a few precious weeks with the man, it wasn't. He missed him and every message made the ache inside him grow. But it was better to stay in contact, even when it hurt, than to never hear from Erik again.

'I should sleep. Goodnight, Erik.'

'Goodnight Charles. I might take you up on the Russian offer one day.' 

Charles stared at his arm for a long time, wondering if Erik was just joking, or if he really meant to visit.

***

Erik should have known that talking to Charles would reawaken his longing for Charles's company. Before, he always had a reason to hold him at a distance, able to use Schmidt's threats of cruelty as a reason to keep him at arm's length. 

But Schmidt was dead. He was dead and gone, and he didn't get to keep controlling Erik's life. Schmidt was dead, and Erik would never see him again.

He didn't need to stay away to protect Charles anymore. He was only staying away in an attempt to protect himself. 

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower. He watched Mystique curled up with a book, her fingers tracing over it. She was pining.

"She's pining?" Emma asked, and he jumped, his hand twitching to summon his helmet. Emma dodged the helmet skilfully, raising an eyebrow. "You're projecting. It's not like I want to listen to the two of you mope."

Erik stared at her and she stared back, completely unashamed.

"You two were always close, weren't you? Even without the soulmate bond - I've not seen two people use their powers like that before."

"He and I...disagreed, about a great many things," Erik muttered, his excuse sounding weak to his own ears.

"I'm sure you did. And you enjoyed it, didn't you. You're always itching for a fight but none of us tell you what you want to hear."

"I promised I'd lead the Brotherhood. You needed - "

"I'm not saying to leave us." Emma glared at him. "I'm saying go and talk to Charles. Work out where you both stand, what you want to do. Stop moping. If you want to be the powerful Magneto - then act like it, sugar."

Erik rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling slightly.

"It would be good for Mystique I suppose," he justified, and Emma nodded.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Erik chose not to justify that comment with a response. He spent a few more days writing to Charles, not letting him know he was considering a visit. Charles continued to offer him a place to stay, promising his bedroom was untouched.

'I can't imagine myself surrounded by screaming children.'

'They're mostly teens. Anyway, I can handle the school side of things.' Charles promised, and Erik shook his head fondly. He'd seen from prior experience that whenever Charles got excited about an idea, he would drag everyone else into the chaos with him.

"What do you think?" Erik asked the others. "We should at least visit. And if they are serious about creating a school that will help Mutantkind - we should offer to be there to protect them."

"I don't speak English," Azazel answered, in perfect English.

"Me neither," Janos agreed. "I am not teaching children."

"I'm not saying we have to teach," Erik pointed out. "We can help recruit people. Reach out to those who need it. We can fight, here, to protect Mutantkind, but Charles is the one who can find the children that need our help."

"If he starts to be annoying, we can always leave," Emma pointed out. 

Mystique, who had kept quiet throughout the discussion, nodded.

"If he gets annoying, we leave." Her smile was fragile, but there, and Angel wrapped an arm around her for a moment. Then Azazel was holding out his hand, and everything around them disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Mystique hesitated as she looked across at the mansion.

"He'll know we're here. Erik. You should go first. Explain why we've come." Mystique looked almost nervous, and Erik nodded.

"Of course. But he'll want to see you."

She nodded, and Erik stepped forwards, leaving the rest of the Brotherhood to wait. If something went wrong, he could signal Emma, and Azazel could take the rest away. Not that anything would go wrong - this was a school. This was where Charles was.

He kept the helmet on as he approached the front door, raising his hand to open it. It swung open, and he headed towards the study he had shared with Charles. The paperweight was no longer on the desk, and that hurt slightly, but he couldn't allow it to bother him. Charles had moved it to a different office.

"If you're looking for Charles you won't find him upstairs," Hank snapped from the bottom of the stairs when Erik was halfway up.

Erik turned to glare at him, and found that Hank was snarling at him.

"He's in his office. Along that corridor."

"Thank you," Erik said, as politely as he could given the circumstances. He could feel Hank's eyes boring into him as he approached the office. He paused, considering if he should knock, before he just pushed the door open.

Charles was at his desk, staring down at some papers, a pen in his hand. He was lost in thought.  
Erik considered for a moment, reaching out for another pen and summoning it from the desk, then writing on his arm.

'Charles, look up.'

Charles frowned a little.

"What now, Erik?" he mumbled to himself, pushing his sleeve aside, and then looking up in confusion. It took a moment for him to understand, before he smiled.

"Erik!" He pushed his chair back from the desk. "It's so good to see you."

Erik had been expecting Charles to run to him, to embrace him. This cautiousness surprised him a little, but he walked closer. 

"You're still wearing that helmet?"

"I... I wasn't sure how you'd react to seeing me," Erik answered, and Charles smiled.

"I am always happy to see you, my friend." With that, he wheeled around the edge of the desk and towards Erik.

Erik stared at him.

"You're- "

"In a wheelchair? Yes," Charles said. "Honestly, it's useful for carrying around books, even if the higher shelves are a little out of reach now, so - "

"Why?" Erik stared. "That woman - "

"Erik." Charles sighed. "There was a bullet in my spine. Pulling it out quickly doesn't undo what happened."

"You... Since the beach?"

Charles nodded, and Erik crouched down, not liking staring down at Charles.

"You could have said. You should have - "

"And you'd have come back?" Charles asked.

"Of course I would come back, Charles! I… I did this to you - "

"And that was why I couldn't tell you, Erik. You'd have come here out of duty, not because you wanted to see me... I don't want you here because you owe me something. I want you here because you want..."

"Of course I want you Charles," Erik told him. "You are... insufferable. And obnoxious. And self-righteous. And..." His voice shook slightly. "And I've missed you."

"I missed you too." Charles held out his arms. "Come here, please."

Erik awkwardly folded himself into Charles's embrace, reaching up to remove his helmet. He'd half expected Charles to push into his mind, but he didn't. There was a pause, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against Charles's. He focused, projecting the thought the way Emma had shown him.

_I missed you._

_I missed you too. You're home now._


	10. Chapter 10

Charles held Erik against him for a short while, resting against him, careful not to push too far into his mind. If Erik was willing to speak to him this way, that was enough, he wouldn't invade. 

"I hoped you were coming home... I told them not to change your room."

"You've moved rooms?" Erik asked, a frown creasing his forehead. Charles only just held in the urge to lean up and kiss it away.

"I had to. The stairs are proving to be a challenge, but I don't mind, not really. I quite like the view from this study."

Erik nodded, but there was still uncertainty in his eyes.

"You can't hate yourself for this, Erik," Charles insisted. "I know it's easy to fall into being angry at yourself, but that won't help anyone. I don't hate you, so you don't get to hate yourself either."

Erik nodded, his fingers tracing patterns on the metal of the wheelchair.

"I should have... I should have listened."

"Yes," Charles agreed with a fond smile. "You should have. And I should have listened as well - I wasn't able to understand that we needed to be free of Shaw. That you needed to... I should have tried to understand."

"Mystique... They all came with me," Erik said, reluctantly pulling back from Charles. "We're not... We're here for now, because you need guards. You might think you can defend this place but - "

"But you want to help." Charles nodded. "I can see the logic in that. Hank and I are far better equipped for teaching than fighting."

"You say as though you weren't able to single-handedly prevent war."

"I feel safer with you around." Charles placed his hands over Erik's, holding him in place a moment longer. "I've always felt safer around you Erik. You're... You have always been someone I have trusted. And I didn't treat you as you deserved. I should have listened, and been able to understand you."

Erik swallowed, not letting go of Charles's hands. 

"You... You really understand now?"

"No," Charles said firmly, shaking his head as Erik's face fell. "Not really - I know you've tried to hide those thoughts from me. But I understand enough to know we needed to be free of him."

Erik nodded slowly, and Charles smiled.

"Your friends could stay in the East Wing if you'd like? It'll be a little calmer and further away from the children - "

Erik nodded, and Charles paused. 

"And do you want your own room back or - "

"I'd rather be near you," Erik said firmly, and Charles felt butterflies in his stomach, nervousness filling him - he wasn't sure if it was his, or Erik's, or both.

"That… We can arrange that." The room beside his study had been converted into a bedroom, in case he had needed a nurse to stay overnight. He hadn't, but he'd left the bed in there to be on the safe side.

"Erik. My room is big enough for two... You always said before you wouldn't allow me close because of Shaw. That all you could offer me was friendship until he was in a grave..." He let the words hang unspoken between them. 

_I don't know,_ Erik replied mentally, the words a little loud. "I can't promise you won't look in my mind and find things you don't want to see."

"I wouldn't look in your mind if you didn't want that, Erik."

"No." Erik sighed, his fingers twitching. Charles could hear one of the lamps flexing slightly - was tempted to try and shield his paperweight with his body. "Emma says I... She says sometimes I can dream rather loudly. She and I sleep at least three rooms apart because otherwise I... I can bother her."

"You... bother her?" Charles asked, reaching for Erik's hands. 

"Nightmares." Erik shrugged. "I don't want to inflict those memories on you."

"Erik, I'm a grown man. I'll be able to manage - Erik you went through those tortures as a child and you survived - "

"I survived because I was a child!" Erik roared, and Charles flinched slightly, hating that he'd somehow hurt the man. A moment later he could see the pain in Erik's eyes. He held his arms out, and Erik moved closer, cuddling up against him, pressing his forehead against Charles's shoulder. 

When Erik next spoke, he did so mentally.

 _I didn't know then... I just... I was afraid._ The words were accompanied by a cascade of images, unclear but terrifying all the same. _And I had you to...to hold onto, even when I couldn't speak to you. Proof I had a soul._

Charles wrapped his arms around him tighter.

 _Of course you have a soul Erik. And... I shouldn't have said that the way I did. What you survived was remarkable. But what I meant was I'm an adult. I want to be there, to understand and help you. The thought of you hiding away from me because you might have bad dreams..._ Charles gently tugged at Erik's hair, guiding him to look into his eyes. "I want to be there when you have bad dreams. I want to hold you close, and I want to help you."

 _I want that too._ Erik's lips were surprisingly soft against Charles's own, the kiss almost hesitant before they both seemed to realise that this was real. Shaw was gone, and Charles could feel Erik's excitement and fear and hope all tangled together as they kissed, Erik's hands gripping onto his closer.

_Does that mean you'll stay?_

_We're going to try. Mystique says we can stay until you get annoying._

"Oh." Charles pouted as he broke the kiss, feeling Raven's approach, a soft smile lingering on his lips. "But I'm always annoying."

The door opened, and Raven - no, Mystique, he had to call her that now, had to respect who she was - was standing there, her skin blue. She was wearing a white summer dress and a brilliant smile.

"You look so happy, Mystique," he told her and she nodded, running forwards and half-pulling Erik from him so that she could embrace him.

"How do I look?" she asked, spinning.

"Like my little sister grew up."

***

Erik hadn't been sure what to expect on returning to the mansion, hadn't known where he and Charles would be, but he never could have imagined it would be like this. He could feel a warmth inside of him that was quite alien.

"Charles?" he said softly, after the others had headed off to rest, leaving the two of them to make their way to Charles's study. 

"Yes?" Charles asked, setting up the chess board as their last game had required. 

"You're projecting. I can... I can feel you being happy."

Charles frowned, closing his eyes, and after a moment he opened them again and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. My shields are still up, and I just asked Emma to check - I'm not projecting."

"Oh," Erik frowned. "So - "

"I think it's you," Charles told him, a soft smile on his lips, and Erik wasn't sure if he should roll his eyes or kiss him, so he did both. 

"You... Do you want to go inside my mind, Charles? I can't promise that you'll like what you see there. I've... I've felt a lot of anger, and hate, for a long time. It's helped me. I don't want you to change it or take it away."

"I..." Charles hesitated, and Erik could see the longing there. "Do you want me inside your mind?"

"Don't take anything," Erik said, and the warmth was fading now, becoming cold and solid inside of him, dropping like lead. "You can't... You can't take my memories; not the bad ones, not any of it."

"I wouldn't," Charles said, and he looked hurt. "I... I wouldn't do that Erik, not to anyone, least of all to you. Your memories are who you are."

"You found... You found my mother - "

"I did. And one day, if you'd like, we can look for what else might be there. You've buried them deeply, because you had to..." Charles hesitated, wiping his eyes and then squeezing Erik's hand. "Because you couldn't let yourself feel anything good. But if you want, we can look for them in time."

Erik swallowed, then nodded.

"Not today. But yes. Maybe." He looked down, at Charles's hand in his own.

"One day." Charles agreed. "When you want it, and you're ready...we can look."

Erik nodded, kissing him softly because he didn't know what to say.

_You can come in, if you'd like._

The first brush of Charles's mind against his own was gentle, cautious, but then there was a flood of warmth and hope and joy, coursing through him like a warm bath before fading again, lingering.

"Charles?" he asked softly, and Charles looked at him.

"Erik, you have the most beautiful mind." Charles ducked his head, as though he was ashamed, and Erik felt a sudden flood of anger at everyone who had taught Charles his gift was shameful. Charles looked at him fondly.

"You really are very protective, aren't you?"

"You've been mine for over half my life," Erik told him firmly. "Of course I'm protective."

"I'm yours, huh?" Charles laughed. 

"Always." Erik answered, brushing his fingers across Charles's arm. Charles rolled his eyes and didn't pull away. Erik laughed, then waved over a pen, writing on his own arm.

'Erik's.' He followed the word with a love heart, and Charles laughed but didn't disagree.

"I know you probably don't want to get involved with the teaching here. But I wonder if you'd be able to support the children." Charles suggested, and Erik laughed.

"You've only just got me back and already want to put me to work?" Erik teased, and Charles nodded.

"I mean, I'm rather enjoying just having you here but..." Charles slipped into speaking inside Erik's mind. _I honestly think you have a lot more to offer the world than just hatred and anger._

 _I have a reputation to maintain,_ Erik answered with a smile. "Just don't expect me to handle teenage dramatics."

"Erik, you spent the last part of your teenage years on a murder spree. I don't think you can accuse anyone else of being dramatic," Charles pointed out, but there was no anger there, no blame. 

Erik leaned over, resting his head on Charles's shoulder. "We should rest."

Charles nodded.

"I suppose we can finish the game tomorrow." He yawned, glancing at Erik. "I'll go and get ready, can you tidy up in here?" 

Erik nodded, going to clean away the wine glasses as Charles wheeled out of the room.

 _Ready!_ Charles called out a short while later, and Erik headed through to the bathroom, finding that Charles was already under the covers. He hesitated slightly.

 _The bed's made up next door if you need it?_ Charles offered, and it was that offer that helped Erik decide. He walked over, climbing into bed beside Charles. There was a moment of awkwardness, neither of them quite sure how to hold themselves, and then he pulled Charles close, his arms around him so that he could keep him safe.

"Good night, Charles," he murmured.

"Good night," Charles replied, a wave of comfort and warmth flowing between them. Erik relished that sensation, catching it in his mind and then returning it to Charles.

"You feel like coming home," Charles told him, sleepily moving to press his head against Erik's shoulder. Erik just held him close, fingers stroking through Charles's hair, watching him sleep.

***

They woke late the next morning. 

Charles could feel the background hum of the household; knew that he wasn't needed for anything in particular, that he could rest and no one would begrudge him for it. 

Erik meanwhile was finding it strangely peaceful. He was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to be doing. Charles was warm and solid in his arms, and there was nothing to worry about. Charles had adjusted his position a few times during the night, but never gone out of reach, and so Erik had no reason to complain.

There was a faint smell of smoke, which made Erik open his eyes.

"Cute," Azazel muttered, putting down some food and two cups of coffee. "Don't get used to this." With that he vanished again, and Charles laughed softly, snuggling into Erik's shoulder.

"That wasn't funny," Erik muttered, but he could feel that Charles was happy and he found himself smiling. "You knew he was coming then?"

"Ra- Mystique asked if it was alright. And wanted to check if we were at least somewhat decent."

"And you didn't bother letting me know we'd get a visitor?"

"He's one of your men," Charles pointed out. "And I thought you were asleep."

Erik yawned, sitting up and reaching for breakfast, glad Azazel had at least brought things he would eat. He took a sip of coffee, gazing at Charles fondly.

_Your hair is sticking up._

_Can I see?_

Erik nodded, and then Charles closed his eyes, before beginning to straighten his hair. Erik indulged him for a moment, before running his gaze down Charles's body.

"Yes, very funny," Charles muttered as he opened his eyes, reaching for his own coffee. "I suppose I shouldn't expect you to want a lie-in to a reasonable hour every morning?"

Erik shook his head, stretching and then getting out of bed. 

"I should go and check on everyone."

"They're fine," Charles promised. "You can stay here and they will still be fine after you have finished eating breakfast."

"The great Charles Xavier hesitating before he gets up in the morning?"

 _You aren't the only one enjoying the view,_ Charles shot back. Erik smirked at him, and Charles shrugged unashamedly.

"Erik... I know we didn't ... Do you think you'll stay?"

"Do you want me to?" Erik asked, tensing slightly in fear of what the answer might be. Charles hesitated.

"I want you to stay because you want to. That's why I didn't tell you about the injury: because I want you to be here out of choice."

"I'll stay as much as I can," Erik answered. "If our people need us... I refuse to turn my back on them because I'm comfortable here."

"I know." Charles leaned over and brushed his thumb over Erik's lips. "I couldn't ask you that. Just come home, whenever you're able to, and know that I'll be here for you."

Erik parted his lips, kissing Charles's thumb.

 _I'll write if we're apart._ He frowned, and then laughed. "Charles, you said about me teaching. I can teach German on one condition."

"Oh?"

"I want you in that class. Your grammar has always been appalling, and after you were sent to such an expensive school - "

"I learned Latin and Greek at school," Charles protested. "German was translated using a dictionary."

"What's the point of Latin or Greek, Charles? Everyone you could talk to is dead."

Charles laughed at that, then poked him.

"Can you move my wheelchair?" He sent Erik the image of how he needed the chair, and moved himself into it easily. "Thanks. I'll go use the bathroom, there's another one through the second door on your right. Then I promised I'd help one of the older girls write a university application. Maybe you could…have a look around. See what we've built so far."

Erik nodded, leaning in to brush his lips against Charles's before he got up and went to get ready for the day. 

He snagged a pen from Charles's office as he walked past, rolling up his sleeves. He walked around the school, jotting notes on his arm as he wandered in and out of classrooms. He couldn't be sure the school was safe - it felt too much like a target. But what Charles had begun here was something wonderful, and he and the rest of the Brotherhood would protect it.

He was walking around the perimeter when he felt a familiar itch on his arm and glanced down to see that Charles had written 'Did you steal my pen?'. He replied by focussing on the image of him floating it out of the office. He felt Charles's laughter in return.

Sure that the school was safe for now, he headed back, walking to Charles's office. The room was occupied only by Charles, who was staring at some paperwork. Erik cleared his throat, floating the pen up towards Charles. Charles grabbed it out of the air, muttering under his breath and then blowing him a kiss.

_Come here?_

Erik stepped towards him, closing and locking the door behind him with a wave of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, and particularly to TnC and Lourdesdeath for their help, and Lynds for her support throughout!   
> I hope you've enjoyed this.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think so far!


End file.
